


Dove

by chunni



Series: Dark Harry Hart AU [2]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Age Difference, Dark Harry Hart, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dom/sub Undertones, Eggsy is in Denial, Emotional Manipulation, Forced Orgasm, Heavy Angst, I'm Sorry, Jealousy, Kissing, Lacking the Will to Live, M/M, More Hurt Than Comfort, Murder, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Past Eggsy/Tilde, Power Imbalance, Rape/Non-con Elements, Roxy Is a Good Bro, Stockholm Syndrome elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-08-19 06:26:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 40,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20205211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chunni/pseuds/chunni
Summary: Harry comes back from the dead and he is determined to get what he wants. Eggsy struggles.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This story is dark. 
> 
> Really dark. Perhaps with a flicker of light at the very end. (It's an AU where Harry doesn't shy away from drastic measures, to put it mildly, so he's obviously a bit OOC). Look at the tags and you get an idea of what the story's about, and if you don't want to read something like that, please don't read it. There are enough fluffy Hartwin fanfics out there that are really lovely and heartwarming! 
> 
> As you've probably already noticed, this story is part of a series or rather the main story to the prequel-ish OS I published in response to a kinkmeme some time ago. (You don't have to have read that OS but it would probably clear up some things.)
> 
> I actually finished the whole thing (10 chapters, prologue + epilogue, ~38k words), so I can update regularly (and focus on all the other WIPs I have :P). I'm no native speaker, so please feel free to point out the mistakes I surely made or any sentence that sounds weird.  
I don't expect many readers but, of course, I appreciate anyone who, too, wants to cry and suffer a bit. 
> 
> The prologue is from Harry's point of view, the remaining story is going to be told from Eggsy's.

**Prologue**

~

“What do you want from me?!”

Her voice didn’t quiver and a part of him did appreciate her courage, fake as it must be. Shadows danced across the walls enclosing them like a cage and the rain sounded like laughter as it pattered to the ground around them. It was almost loud enough to drown out her words. It was certainly loud enough to keep local residents from hearing things they shouldn’t hear.

A small smile twisted his lips, barely visible in the darkness of the night. There was no way she would be able to flee. 

Good. 

“From you?” Harry Hart shook his head. “Nothing, my dear.” 

Wet strands of hair stuck to his face but they didn’t bother him, yes, he could hardly feel them. He hardly felt anything recently. Except for... when he thought of _him_.

Her eyes narrowed a bit more, gaze flying across the street in a desperate, a _hopeless_ search for escape. _Don’t even bother_, he thought. _Your fate is sealed._

She didn’t feel the same way apparently. When he closed in on her, she tried to run despite slipping on the wet stones of the street.

She didn’t get too far, he couldn’t let her. This was, after all, barely more than a bump on the road he had chosen for himself. He didn’t want to waste too much time when there were things he wanted to do. Things he yearned to do. Things he had desired to do far too long. 

It was easy to grab her. When he placed his arm across her neck, elbow grazing her Adam’s apple, he knew where to apply pressure to block the flow of her breath. 

The high heels at her shaking feet clattered across the asphalt as she fell against him. Her breast heaved beneath his skin, her fingers urging against his arm, clenching, clawing to no avail. She couldn’t hurt him. He could hardly feel her fighting against his grip, struggling to live. People often had the weird habit of clinging to life even though there was no possibility of survival.

She must know that, right? That she wouldn’t survive? Why couldn’t she just give in to her fate? To death’s embrace? 

He frowned while increasing the pressure slightly. Somewhere at the borders of his mind, he heard her gasp, a weak little sound. It was pathetic. It was only a few seconds later that he realised that she wasn’t gasping. That she was trying to say something. 

Feeling generous, he loosened his arm somewhat, and, unsurprisingly, she didn’t speak but took deep, hasty breaths as soon as her lungs regained some strength. Harry clenched his teeth, another wave of irritation running through his body. Why was she doing this when she must know that she couldn’t avoid death? 

But then a word slipped through her mouth, quivering now, and it was tinted by anguish and desperation. She was afraid, wasn’t she? Rightfully so. 

Relishing the fear that dripped off her body like the laughing rain around them, he almost forgot to focus on _what_ she was saying. 

“E-egg... sy...,” she sobbed. In this storm Harry couldn’t even say if she was crying or not. He also didn’t care. 

He buried his hand in her ugly blond hair, the blue ribbon tied around it tearing, fleeing with the wind, and how the fuck could _he_ consider her even remotely attractive? When he yanked at her head, she shrieked in pain, and the sound was very sweet indeed. 

“Listen to me,” he whispered into her ear, blood boiling with disgust, and he had never detested another person more than her. “You don’t get to say his name. You don’t get to look at him. You don’t deserve him.” 

When she punched him against his ribs, it was clumsily done and weak. Though, not weak enough. Harry went back to applying pressure against her throat even though a part of him wanted to see her suffer for all eternity.

“Well, well, don’t get too confident. We both know how this is going to end, don’t we?” He smiled against her cheek. As the fight faded from her body, he began to gently comb her hair with his fingers.

“I don’t want to kill you, you know? I’m sure you’re a formidable young lady. It’s just... I can’t let you live either. I can’t let you have him. You can understand it, surely?” 

She didn’t even make a noise now, limbs trembling but unmoving otherwise. Her heartbeat was still jumping like that of a rabbit but it grew weaker by the minute, the sound quiet, fading. Soon he wouldn’t be able to hear it anymore. 

Her eyes were wide and popping without really focusing on anything, the heaving of her chest had stopped, and that was how it was supposed to be. Good. 

“Rest assured,” Harry murmured petting her head a few times. “I’ll take good care of him.”

When he dropped her lifeless body a few minutes later, the thunder rolled in the background and he felt better than he had in a long time. 

~ 


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prologue was rather short, so I thought I don't want to leave you hanging and upload the first chapter now :) Thanks to everyone who's reading this, love you all! (This is actually the nicest chapter btw)

**Chapter 1**

~ 

_One week later_

It was only after Eggsy had closed the last button of his shirt that he noticed the tremble of his fingers. He exhaled, the sound loud in this big and _empty_ room. When he lifted his hands to look at them, it made them shake even more. Tremble. Tiny involuntary motions of his body, a sign of insecurity, stress. Grief? 

He sighed, mind dizzy. 

When his gaze crossed the clock on the wall, he realised that it had taken him more than an hour to dress. Why did it seem to him that no more than five minutes had passed? Why did his lungs contract making it difficult to breathe? Why did his eyes burn? Still? Always? 

Eggsy clenched his teeth and forced away the storm that threatened to overtake his mind. It wasn’t easy. In fact, it was harder than most of the things he had done in his life. 

(Though, it was not as hard as seeing her body disappear into the earth, inch by inch. His heart had wanted to disappear too.) 

He blinked hastily as a tear slipped out of the corner of his eye. It left a cold trail that lingered even after he had rubbed his cheek and mingled with the cold inside his body. A cold that reached as deep as the core of his bones, freezing every vein and muscle. 

He needed to put a hand against the wall as his legs grew weak, and his stomach twisted, and the world began to turn, and why... why... 

Why did it ring at his door? 

Eggsy blinked swallowing hard, and he didn’t sob. _He didn’t_. 

“C-coming!” He rushed to the door before his emotions could paralyse him. A few seconds later he turned the key, pushed the handle, and his heart leaped and... 

...stopped entirely. 

He was convinced that he was dreaming because there was no way that what he was seeing was real. It couldn’t be. 

His hand fell off the doorframe. 

“Harry...?,” Eggsy whispered.

Because it was Harry. Dressed in a fashionable suit, hair neatly combed back, he looked just like before _that day_. The day Valentine had shot a bullet straight through his head. (_And Eggsy didn’t think of what had happened before, he didn’t._) 

The only sign telling that it was, in fact, not a hallucination conjured by his troubled mind was the blacked out lense of his glasses covering his left eye. It gave his look a rough edge as if he were a war veteran who had lived through humanity’s darkest times. (And maybe he had.) 

It didn’t seem real and yet it was. 

“Eggsy.” Harry smiled.

A part of Eggsy wanted to frown, wanted to slam the door, wanted _scream_ because he remembered, and oh how well he remembered. How well he would always remember. He wouldn’t be able to forget because the memories were ingrained in his mind, the memories of the time he had realised with a twisting stomach that he had erred like never before.

_Those memories_. The memories he wouldn’t allow himself to remember.

It was easier that way. 

With Harry gone, he hadn’t even had a reason to think about them. It had been nice to pretend, to focus on the good times. He had been _crushed_ by Harry’s death in such a way that his mind had refused to even consider painting him in a bad light. 

Maybe that was why he couldn’t make himself throw accusations around. 

Maybe that was why he felt a wave of warmth chasing away the cold, his soul bursting with joy because _he was alive_. Harry was alive. 

Maybe that was why he leaped over the threshold to throw his arms around Harry, head pressing against his neck (and it was weird because he even _smelled_ like before, a distant but pleasing note of sandalwood and musk). 

Eggsy didn’t know why a cascade of tears ran down his face even though he had tried so hard not to cry just a few minutes ago. A pang rang through his chest, and his whole fucking body _hurt_, and he sobbed and gasped and clung onto Harry as if he were his lifeline. Maybe he was. 

An absent part of his mind noticed the hands caressing his back in soft, circling motions, and it felt nice, and it made him keep breathing, living. For a moment it was the only thing he was able to do. 

“I... I... I d-don’t,” he sobbed in between shaky breaths. It would be a miracle if Harry were able to understand the words. “I d-don’t know what to do. Sh-She’s... _dead_. Dead, Harry! I... I...” 

“It’s alright,” Harry whispered against his ear and it was as if he were pressing him closer to his chest. (Or perhaps Eggsy was only imagining things.) “You don’t need to say anything. It’s alright… I’ll help you, darling...” 

If Eggsy’s mind had been just a tad clearer, he would have known by then what Harry was up to. He would have been able to prevent the things to come. As it was, he had hardly been able to listen to Harry, let alone comprehend the words.

It took him much too long to calm himself. His face felt hot and itchy and his skin prickled because he was still standing in front of the door on public display (and Harry shouldn’t have seen him like this, so utterly weak and broken).

He didn’t want to let go of Harry and his warmth yet but the questions inside his mind began to yell and he couldn’t drown them out anymore. He blinked the last tears away and took a deep breath. _It was alright._

When Eggsy moved to step backwards, Harry’s grip tightened in an almost uncomfortable way. It made his heart skip a beat and his stomach churn even though he wasn’t sure why. He would have frowned, might have voiced his confusion if Harry hadn’t released him a second later. (And there was relief flooding through him then.)

“You’re alive,” Eggsy said shaking off that weird, lingering uneasiness. There were more important things to talk about. “Fuck, I’ve seen Valentine shoot you! How can you be alive?!”

Harry didn’t say anything even though there was something flashing through his gaze, thoughts, words unspoken. It sent a shiver down Eggsy’s back and he had to fight the urge to rub his neck. Weird. For a moment he couldn’t help but wonder if Harry was even pondering his question or something else entirely.

“I don’t think that’s something we should discuss on your patio,” Harry replied before raising his brows. “Don’t you agree?”

~

It took two cups of sweetened black tea and one hour until Harry had answered the most urgent of his questions and Eggsy didn’t feel like being thrown into another reality anymore. 

After learning about Statesman and how they had helped Harry, he had to fight the urge to run to the airport. Taking the first flight to the USA and hugging each and every agent there didn’t seem like the worst idea right now. 

“So, did you go to Kingsman yet? Something tells me they won’t let us get away with having the same codename.” Eggsy chuckled and wasn’t it weird how he couldn’t remember when he had laughed the last time? Genuinely laughed? 

It was nice not to deal with quivering lips and sunken corners of his mouth for once. It was nice not to fight the urge to cry for once. It was nice not to drown in painful memories for once. For a moment he could even forget why he had been sad in the first place and he wished with every fibre of his body he wouldn’t need to go back, wouldn’t need to face the past.

“We’ll see,” Harry said. Eggsy might have probed him for another answer, a _real_ answer, if Harry hadn’t changed the subject to a new one entirely. 

“Now, enough of me, what about you? You seem... upset, if I may say so.” 

Eggsy’s breath got stuck somewhere between his ribs, and that must be what suffocating felt like. He cleared his throat but it didn’t help and he ended up coughing as if he had a cold. His gaze fell from Harry’s face to the kitchen table between them, and it was blue, a nice light blue, and it was _her _favourite colour, wasn’t it? _Rather had been._

Eggsy pressed his eyes shut, eyes that were already stinging with tears, again, always. It was hopeless. Suppressing a sob, he took a shaky breath. He didn’t want to talk about it but Harry had told him about his past weeks and he had been nice and encouraging and comforting. It would only be fair to return the favour. 

(If he didn’t mention _that incident_ Eggsy surely wouldn’t do it himself.)

“I... met someone when we broke into Valentine’s base,” Eggsy whispered, voice tense like a rubber band that could tear apart any second now. 

“She was my...” He swallowed hard. ‘My g-girlfriend. Was because... she...sh-she... _died_. Car accident.” He hadn’t been sure if he would be able to say the word and he still wasn’t sure if it had been right to say it. The word seemed to linger in this throat even now, burning the skin like acid. He gulped. 

“I’m truly sorry, Eggsy,” Harry murmured.

Eggsy didn’t know why but something in his words rubbed him the wrong way even though they sounded warm, compassionate even. He opened his eyes when he felt another hand covering the one he had put on the table, giving it a gentle squeeze. 

“I hope you’re taking the break you deserve. It’s never easy to lose someone you hold dear. I’m sure Kingsman can get through a few weeks without you, don’t worry.” 

“Thanks,” Eggsy sniffled. When his gaze met Harry’s, he made himself smile and it almost felt real. “Thank you, Harry. Really. It means a lot to me that you’re here, alive and kicking. Or, well, at least I hope you’re still kicking ass...” 

Harry rolled his eyes and Eggsy grinned and everything was fine. 

It couldn’t last though. 

~ 

When Harry rang at his door again, it was a week later. 

Eggsy had taken Harry’s advice and had asked not to be send on missions for the following month. It had entailed not hearing about any of the missions that were being assigned and missing the meeting that had taken place but he had accepted that. (It wouldn’t be for ever, right?)

He had even asked Roxy not to call him for the following days even though it was hurting him almost as much as her. However, he didn’t want to hear the pity in her voice, he needed some time by himself, and he also didn’t want to keep her from work. It was better that way. 

However, that was why he was even more surprised by what Harry told him. 

“Arthur died. A heart attack, truly unfortunate.” 

Eggsy could only stare at him for a few moments, thoughts slow like old syrup because he couldn’t believe it. (And maybe because of his sleepless nights too.)

Then an angry spark ran through his body, his eyes narrowed. 

“And they ain’t telling me? I may be taking some kind of a break right now but I deserve to know something like that! _Arthur died_, my god. That ain’t some boring mission report, that’s important news!” 

He shook his head snorting and resisting the urge to throw something against the nearest wall. It was difficult not to storm out of the door and run to that damn tailor’s shop right now. It wasn’t fair, was it? He was an agent like all the other ones, just as capable, just as important, he... 

“They probably didn’t want to bother you, give you time to overcome this traumatic event,” Harry said putting a hand on his shoulder. It was only then that Eggsy realised that his whole body was shaking of anger and he exhaled the breath he had held. He had to use all his willpower to let go of the tension.

“I know you’re an indispensable part of Kingsman, and I’m surely not the only one.” 

Eggsy glimpsed at Harry, and wasn’t he standing closer to him than a minute ago? His face began to tingle with heat but he ignored it. It wasn’t important. Harry only wanted to help, right? 

“How are you doing?”, Harry asked then jerking him out of his thoughts. The change of topic was unexpected enough to make Eggsy flinch. He shook the hand off his shoulder as he stepped away. 

“M-me?!” He clenched his teeth, tried to force away the yawn creeping up his throat. A cold shiver ran down his spine. “I’m... fine. Just fine. Have to take J.B. for a walk though. So, you might wanna go now.” 

The short silence was heavy but he didn’t turn around to look at Harry and Harry didn’t step forward either. 

“You look tired, Eggsy. Do you get enough sleep?” 

Eggsy’s mind swam. He wanted to keep lying but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to at the same time. Nevertheless, it took him a few seconds to open his mouth and a few more to keep it open. 

“I...” He sighed, voice small and sad and quiet. He felt his shoulders slump down. “I don’t know.” 

“Is it because she used to live here? You can’t sleep because you think of her?” 

It was as if Harry had cut through his chest with a dull blade and it was difficult not to throw up. Another wave of nausea made his mind shake, his heart shake, and his legs might have shaken too. He couldn’t say for sure because he couldn’t feel them anymore, not really. 

Eggsy didn’t realise that he had closed his eyes, that he was about to collapse on the floor until he felt a hand reaching through his arm pit to help him keep standing. Lids fluttering, he let himself rest against Harry and it was nice not to use that much of his strength for once, it was nice not to fight that terrible coldness for once. 

He nodded, the motion slow and sluggish. Harry understood him anyway. 

“Perhaps it would help if you were in another environment. This house reminds you of her whenever you walk through the rooms, and, apart from J.B., you’re all alone. I reckon it isn’t exactly beneficial to your situation.” 

Eggsy needed a few moments to consider the words. Something inside him jumped and twisted as if warning him, as if begging him not to answer. He frowned, Harry’s skin burning against his, and it was weird, wasn’t it? 

“You might be right,” he murmured. It didn’t feel wrong but also not quite right. 

“I’m not sure if you would want it but, perhaps...,” Harry began and the words danced across Eggsy’s exhausted mind, difficult to focus on. 

“W-what?”, he whispered, heart fluttering in an odd way. 

“What I want to say, Eggsy, is I hate to see you like this. I’d be glad if you considered staying at my place for as long as you want to.” 

Eggsy’s stomach churned, but why? Harry wanted to help him, nice, comforting Harry, and he hated this house. These lonely, empty rooms. This terrible coldness. It made him want to die, _too_, and there couldn’t be a worse feeling than that, right? 

Eggsy nodded. 

~ 


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this gets pretty bad pretty quickly

**Chapter 2**

~ 

_It’s just for a few days_, Eggsy told himself. _Just for a few days_.

Stepping through the front door of the white building, he couldn’t help but remember the last time he had been at Harry’s house.

_That time_.

His face heated up as he tried to keep the memories from rushing through his mind. (And failed.)

He remembered having been annoyed with Harry when he had thrown his cap across the room for apparently no reason at all but it had been no more than a small irritation, soon to be forgotten. He had still felt bad for failing that last test and disappointing Harry and he wouldn’t have been able to stay angry with him anyway.

It hadn’t felt out of the ordinary but it had changed only a second latter. And what a change that was. 

Harry had leaned in to kiss him and there hadn’t been a trace of anger left. The only thing Eggsy had been able to feel was icy dread unfolding in his body like the venom of a viper, quick, painful, though, without antidote. It made him shiver even now.

Sometimes, when he couldn’t sleep in the nights after Harry’s death, his mind had wandered off. He had found himself wondering if he hadn’t just imagined that incident because it seemed so utterly unbelievable.

The idea that Harry Hart would want to kiss him hadn’t made sense then and it still didn’t.

The worst thing hadn’t even been the kiss itself because he had been too stunned to feel something anyway. The worst thing had been that sea of confusion, disappointment and betrayal he had found himself drowning in. That short moment of joined lips had made him question every minute he had ever spent with Harry, and he hadn’t _wanted_ to slap Harry then but it had felt like the only thing he could do, the only thing left to do.

Eggsy had never felt that horribly helpless before and he would rather climb Mount Everest without climbing gear than repeat it. He still didn’t know why Harry had kissed him back then but he could live fairly well without that knowledge, thank you very much.

Harry didn’t seem to be keen on bringing up the matter, too, and Eggsy for sure hoped it would stay that way. (He wouldn’t be able to deal with _that_ on top of all the other shit he was going through.)

When he followed Harry to the guest room, J.B. at his heels, there was a lightness in his chest he hadn’t felt for a long time. It was easy to imagine himself back to the beginning, when he hadn’t met (_and lost_) Tilde yet. He could look around the rooms without catching a glimpse of her shadow at every corner because she had never been here. He could breathe without pain. It was easy. It was alright.

The first thing he noticed in the room was the freshly made bed, light green blankets on white, solid wood. It looked nice and comfortable and warm and he couldn’t resist the urge to throw himself on top of the mattress sending a shudder through the springs. When he closed his eyes taking a deep breath, fingers digging into the fabric beneath his body, he could smell lavender and washing powder. It was very comfortable indeed.

For a moment his mind was blissfully empty.

Then there was a low woof, the feeling of another weight pressing onto the mattress, and the wet sensation of a dog’s tongue licking across his cheek. Eggsy chuckled, eyes fluttering open as he sat up to pull J.B. on his lap. “Hey, little boy, you wanna sleep here too?”

J.B. seemed to smile, seemed to nod, his dark, round eyes brightening, and that was good enough, Eggsy decided. He hardly noticed when Harry left the room pulling the door shut after saying Eggsy should let him know if he needed something.

He only wanted to rest his eyelids for a few moments but he somehow ended up lying down, J.B. curling up next to his chest, a warm, soft ball of fur, quiet and calm. He didn’t _want _to sleep, it was barely afternoon after all.

It happened nevertheless.

~

When Eggsy had entered the room, the small windows had allowed the sun to reach into the corners and light the walls. When he woke up now, the room was pitch-black. 

For a moment he thought he was still sleeping but then his eyes got used to the lack of light and silhouettes formed in the darkness. When he let his fingers wander over the blankets, he soon found the snoring mass that was his dog. 

_At least you seem unbothered by all of this_, he thought as he slipped from the bed to cross the room, a sad smile on his lips. 

He had no idea what time it was but he didn’t feel tired anymore. His thoughts were clear, gone the clouds that had covered them for the past week. He could walk without having to be afraid of losing the strength of his muscles, without having to be afraid of succumbing to the dizziness. 

Perhaps he would even be able to eat something.

His skin prickled as he sneaked through Harry’s house like a burglar and the exposing silence of the night didn’t help matters. His breath echoed through the darkness like gun shots but he tried to ignore the uneasiness. 

He wasn’t even sure where the kitchen was but he was lucky. The soft light at the end of the hallway turned out to radiate exactly from the place he was looking for. 

The kitchen was empty which made the single illuminated ceiling lamp appear quite spooky. Eggsy expected the bulb to start flickering, to go out any second now and his mind came up with the craziest ideas of lurking serial killers and haunting spirits (even though he wouldn’t admit it). The golden hands of the clock hanging at the wall told him that it was almost 11.00 pm. When he inched to the fridge, a shiver ran down his spine and he wondered if looking for something to eat had been such a good idea after all. But, well, he was here now, wasn’t he? 

_Might as well eat something_, he thought. 

His gaze roamed over jars of strawberry and plum jam, slices of ham, and some kind of pesto until it paused on a couple of cube-shaped things he couldn’t name. Were they even edible? 

“I’d recommend the Époisses de Bourgogne,” Harry said behind him and Eggsy felt his heart jump to the sky. 

“W-what?” He slammed the fridge door shut and whirled around, eyes wide, muscles tense as if he were about to fight for his life. 

“The cheese.”

Harry lifted a brow as he stepped into the dim light. He looked as if something had forced him out of sleep, wearing shorts that most definitely were intended for sleeping and a white button-down shirt that most definitely wasn’t intended for sleeping. It didn’t look weird though. He had the appearance of a man who knew exactly what he was doing, a confidence that captured the room and made the air hum, and Eggsy felt his stomach twist even though he didn’t know why.

He blinked a few times staring at Harry, the black lense of his glasses, and it took him far too long to realise that he was waiting for a reply. 

It was a pity that Eggsy couldn’t remember what Harry had said for his life. He grimaced. 

“Sorry, I, eh, got hungry.” He raised a corner of his mouth to a half-grin. “I didn’t want to wake you.” 

“You didn’t wake me,” Harry said with a small smile. He turned to the counter next to the door and pulled something out of the darkest corner of the room. It took Eggsy a few seconds to realise what he was holding into the light. A bottle of wine. 

“But as we’re both awake now, we might as well spend the time together. What do you say to a glass of 1986 Antinori Tignanello?” 

~ 

“I don’t think I’d be Whiskey. I hate Whiskey. But it does sound cool, doesn’t it? Better than Tequila... or _Cham... pagne_... or...,” Eggsy paused frowning. Champagne had sounded more like champion but he didn’t bother to repeat the word. That would have been a much cooler name anyway.

“What... what other codenames do they have again, Harry? D’you think they have better codenames than we? Well, they _certainly_ seem less uptight, right? They’re quite funny, eh? Funny fellows, eh?” His chuckle transformed into a laugh, tears in his eyes and all, and it shouldn’t have been that fucking hilarious, right? 

Eggsy had to put the half-filled glass back on the small table as the red liquid threatened to flood the couch they were sitting on. Was it his third or fourth one? Well, it didn’t matter anyway.

“D’you think I’d make a good cowboy, Harry?” Eggsy turned his head to look at him.

It shouldn’t have been that difficult but his limbs were heavy like weights and his eyelids didn’t want to stay open, those fluttery, bothersome things. When he lifted a hand to tug at the sleeve of Harry’s shirt, he could hardly feel the fabric beneath his fingers, and when had the air turned into jelly again?

“D’you think I should go to Statesman, Harry?”

Harry looked at him. His gaze shone with something but it wasn’t the sparkle of a drunk, it was clear and sharp, not unlike a blade, and a part of Eggsy felt weird for making that comparison. (A quiet part of him was wondering if Harry had drunk something at all. He must have, right?)

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Harry murmured shaking his head and his voice sent a tingle through Eggsy’s veins, and that was weird, wasn’t it? “It took you long enough to renounce those terrible caps, don’t you dare to start wearing cowboy hats.”

“Perhaps you could be a cowboy then?”

_What an image!_ Eggsy chuckled, and wouldn’t that be simply _hilarious_? But then a wave of heat surged through his body and the laugh withered in his throat. 

He paused, heart oddly racing, mouth oddly dry. He tried to wet his lips, tried to swallow and failed. When he reached for the glass, he didn’t want to take more than a sip but, somehow, he ended up drowning it. Weird.

When another wave of heat sent his blood humming, he gasped, empty glass slipping through his shaking fingers. There was no clang of impact but he didn’t care anyway. He was busy pressing his eyes shut and fighting the fire that captured him with blazing claws. A shiver made his whole body tremble, and that wasn’t right, was it? _It couldn’t be_.

His clothes didn’t feel right anymore, they seemed to trap him, made his skin itch, and the urge to take them off was dancing through his dizzy mind, screaming at him. But, _no_, he couldn’t undress, not in front of Harry, no, he didn’t _want _to undress, dammit. Why did he feel as if they had been teleported to the Sahara somehow? Why was it so damn hot in this damn room? And why did he feel… why did he feel…

There was a hand at his cheek, cold, blissfully cold, and he couldn’t help but lean in moaning softly. (And that wasn’t right either.) His stomach twisted, and tingled, and he didn’t know what to do, he just knew that he needed to do _something_ (and a part of him was fucking scared).

“Eggsy,” Harry whispered close to his ear, and he shouldn’t be that close, should he? Eggsy blinked, tried to open his eyes. Why couldn’t he keep them open? Why did heat pool in his abdomen? And… it was arousal, wasn’t it? He shivered, feeling hot, so freaking hot, and close to suffocating. _Arousal_.

He couldn’t blame it on the alcohol anymore.

“Y-you…” Eggsy almost choked on the word. He wanted to sob, he wanted to cry. He couldn’t. He felt as if someone had punched him in his gut but something told him that he wouldn’t recover from _this_. (And he couldn’t even say what _this_ was). Fear crept through his mind like poison but his thoughts were slow, too slow, as if something were blocking them, and he couldn’t really get a grip on them. Perhaps a part of him didn’t_ want_ to connect the dots.

“W-what… did you… _do_?”

Harry’s hand left his cheek to wander to his neck. When he pulled him against his chest, Eggsy’s vision blurred with tears but his body rejoiced, joined skin prickling with electricity. It was no more than a terrible mockery of a hug, even more so when Harry’s fingers began to gently run over his back like feathers. It was _hell_.

Eggsy hadn’t realised how painfully hard he was until the erection beneath his jeans pressed against Harry’s thigh, and he couldn’t help but moan. That wasn’t right. That was terribly, utterly wrong on so many levels.

He wanted to back off, run away, get away, _somehow_, but his body didn’t want to listen to him, and the hands at his back only pressed him closer. When Harry’s lips brushed his earlobe, he began to sob violently (because it was better than moaning, it was so much better and so much harder).

“It’s alright, darling.” A kiss at the top of his jawline, and he shivered, and he wanted to throw up, and, worst of all, he wanted Harry to keep going. “You don’t know how beautiful you are.”

Eggsy had never felt less beautiful.

He felt like standing on a sinking ship. The world was shaking beneath his feet and his mind didn’t want to follow, tinted by alcohol and whatever Harry had given him. Because he had, he must have, there was no other way, and that knowledge hurt like getting stabbed over and over again. It didn’t get better.

“H-har…ry…” He wanted to scream but it was barely more than a whisper. “P-please… d-d-don’t…”

_I don’t want this!_ A part of him was wondering if it was possible to die from an overload of emotions, and he was freaking _panicking_ because he could hardly move, could hardly speak, and he was trapped, fucking trapped in his own body. Harry couldn’t be freaking serious, he couldn’t be, _he couldn’t be_, could he? _Fuck._

Harry pulled back and for a moment Eggsy thought he got through to him, but, no, Harry only grasped his chin to press their lips together.

How long would it take until he would die of suffocation?

He would have sobbed if Harry hadn’t kept kissing him. His lips burned, opened by themselves, and a moan vibrated at the back of his throat when Harry’s tongue met his, and he shouldn’t want this. Why did his body want this?

_I don’t want this!_

He hardly noticed when Harry opened his jeans but he did notice when it loosened and sank down his hips, and that shouldn’t be happening. It must be a nightmare, right? Harry wouldn’t fucking _drug _him, right? Drug him to… to…

A tear slipped out of the corner of his eye and left a hot trail on his cheek. Harry must have noticed it too because he leaned back and Eggsy gasped for breath, lips swollen and burning. He wanted to flinch when Harry’s thumb met his skin to brush the tear away but he couldn’t find himself able to, his whole body shuddering. And he hated the part of him that wanted to pull Harry right back for another kiss.

“I…,” Harry muttered. There was a slight quiver in his voice and perhaps he would stop now, perhaps he would apologise, and please_, please stop, please don’t keep doing, please_-

But Harry only sighed. When he continued, the shaking note had vanished and Eggsy kept falling. (He hadn’t really had a chance, had he?)

“I just want to help you. I want you to feel good, Eggsy.” 

“I... don’t...,” Eggsy began, tongue heavy and alien in his mouth. It didn’t feel like he was speaking at all. The words didn’t want to form and It was as if he were listening to a stranger. He couldn’t continue, and he couldn’t open his eyes, and he couldn’t move, and it was _hell_. A part of him urged him to fight, another part wanted to give in, and he couldn’t.. he couldn’t... 

When Harry’s hand curled around his cock, every thought floated away. Lightning danced before his eyes and he didn’t want to arch his back but his treacherous body acted on his own. The sound he made was something between whimper and groan, and Eggsy hated how hot he was, how helpless he was, how much he ached for Harry’s touch, and he couldn’t stay, but he couldn’t leave either. 

Harry began pumping him applying just the right amount of pressure, and it felt good. It felt too damn good. Every bit of skin he touched became so sensitive it hurt, and he wanted to cry, wanted to moan. He might have done both things. He couldn’t be sure because he couldn’t hear anything else than his own heartbeat booming through his ears. 

He felt as if he were running through flames and every time he found a way out Harry pulled him right back in. 

“You’ll see,” Harry murmured next to his ear, breath dancing across Eggsy’s cheek, and he stopped moving, fucking stopped moving. The hand clutching his cock loosened its grip slightly, and he whimpered, hips thrusting forward, skin tingling with overwhelming desire. _Why did you stop?!_, his hazy mind screamed (and he hated it). 

“We’re meant to be together.” Lips against his neck, a tongue, teeth grazing his skin, and Eggsy shuddered and gasped. He moaned out loud when Harry went back to touching his cock, thumb dancing around the tip before grasping the whole length, and _fuck_ if it didn’t make him see stars. 

Eggsy felt an orgasm building up but he couldn’t do anything against it, and he wouldn’t have fought it either way. 

Harry pressed a short kiss on his chin, on the dip just above it. When he spoke, the sound made Eggsy’s lips hum, their breath mingling in the air. “You’re mine, Eggsy Unwin.”

When Eggsy came, the earth stuttered and his heart stopped beating entirely. He flew to the sky before falling back to the ground, a shaking and dizzy mess. He wanted to sob but he moaned and it was loud enough to make his face flush in shame. 

_This isn’t hell_, Eggsy thought right before he lost consciousness as his exhausted body didn’t fight to stay awake anymore. _This is worse._

~ 


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

~ 

When Eggsy came to, he was lying in his bed still wearing the same shirt and jeans as the day before, J.B. next to him. He blinked a few times with heavy lids before pulling the blanket away to get up. His legs felt oddly weak, his head pounded with a light headache and... where was he again? 

It didn’t take more than a few seconds before realisation hit him like a bucket of icy water. Memories danced through his mind and a wave of nausea made him stumble until he could hold onto the wall for support. 

He shook his head, unwilling to relive _any_ of those things, and he... he fucking needed to go. _Now_. 

He only turned around to pick up J.B. and didn’t bother himself with the bag of clothes. The soft woof and the familiar touch of the wet dog’s nose against his neck helped to calm his heartbeat somewhat and that was as good as it was necessary because he was damn close to hyperventilating. It wouldn’t take much to make him lose what was left of his composure.

He pushed down the handle of the door and almost cried tears of joy as it opened. After what Harry had done yesterday, locking him up didn’t seem far from what he would be willing to do. That idea should have been crazy, should have been impossible to even consider, and yet Eggsy had never been more serious. When he walked down the hallway, torn between sprinting to the front door and trying to make as little noise as possible, the last thing he wanted to do was meeting Harry. 

Of course that was exactly what happened. 

“Eggsy, do you want to eat breakfast?” 

He shouldn’t have stopped but that was just one of his many mistakes. 

However, he couldn’t keep walking because Harry sounded fucking serious. He sounded as if he cared for the answer. (And that couldn’t be because Eggsy had learned the night before that he didn’t.) His stomach twisted, and there was a spark of anger, and that was enough to make him turn around, eyes narrowing. 

“Y-you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” he ground out. An absent part of his mind noticed that his hands began to tremble when their gazes locked, and his heart skipped a beat. Harry already wore a suit, elegant, the perfect gentleman. To Eggsy, he couldn’t have been less of one. 

“I’m not sure if I can follow you. Didn’t you sleep well? You’ve been in your room for almost eighteen hours, I had hoped you caught up on some sleep.” 

Eggsy opened his mouth to yell the first insult he could come up with, but then he paused. He blinked slowly, frowned. 

_Eighteen hours?_

He exhaled shakily, eyes fixed on Harry, roaming over his face. But his face was blank, expression empty, and Eggsy couldn’t tell if he was lying or... not. 

It couldn’t have been a dream, could it? 

He would never dream something like that, would he? And it had felt too real, horrifyingly real. He could still feel the touch lingering on his skin like a disease – or could he? 

He did wake up in the guest room, didn’t he? He also wore the same clothes as when he arrived. Harry would have needed to carry him to the bed without disturbing J.B. as well as doing... other things. Would he have made such an effort to keep up the pretence? 

Eggsy didn’t know, and he hated this feeling of helplessness, this feeling of defencelessness. He didn’t feel safe. He didn’t know if he would ever be able to again. 

He sighed as his determination crumbled. The tension left his muscles and he wanted nothing more than to lie down, to close his eyes, so sleep, to _forget_. Suspicion made his movements slow but he did put J.B. down and went back to where Harry was standing next to the kitchen door. 

Eggsy couldn’t look at him when he stepped through the door, skin itching, and there was something he had overlooked, there must be, right? Right?

He gulped. 

The small kitchen table was already set. There were two jars of jam, the content red, strawberry perhaps? He could see bread, neatly arranged in a basket, and there was ham and a package of fancy looking cheese too. Eggsy felt his mouth run dry and he wasn’t sure why. 

The table, the food, it seemed to call him as if trying to remind him of something. A terribly strong déjà-vu. 

He took another step forward and his heart began to stutter as if knowing something his mind didn’t. It was a coincidence when he lifted his gaze, but when he did, he noticed the mirror covering the wall, and he hadn’t noticed it in the darkness of last night, had he? 

When he looked into the mirror, he could glimpse a part of Harry’s left sleeve in the right top corner. It didn’t matter though. Because Eggsy saw his own upper body, too. 

As he tilted his head, his reflection followed, and soon he could watch himself paling until the colour of his face was matching the wall. _Fuck_. 

Ice ran through his veins because there was a shadow at his neck, and he would have believed it to be a simple bruise if it hadn’t been in the exact spot where Harry had kissed him last night, the skin tingling and burning. And he wanted to throw up because that meant... it meant... 

It was real. 

_Fuck_. 

“Eggsy,” Harry began, voice low, almost warning, and Eggsy knew from his tone that Harry knew he knew it and _dammit_. He couldn’t do this. 

“Y-you... _fucking_ bastard,” Eggsy snarled even though no words could even come close to what he felt. It was weird how he was able to speak when he wasn’t even breathing. Time came to a stop but the world was wavering beneath his feet as if an earthquake were about to happen. 

It was a shame that Harry was a Kingsman. 

Eggsy managed to dodge the hand that was trying to grab his arm when he ran past him and he ignored the call of his name. But he could hear the steps following him as well, a loud clacking too close behind him. 

Weak as he was from alcohol and drugs, legs trembling and stiff, he wouldn’t be able to outrun him. 

He knew he couldn’t leave the house, so he did the next best thing. He locked himself into the bathroom. 

~

A gentle knocking.

“Eggsy, open the door please.”

_Nice try_, Eggsy thought, hands clenched so that his nails drew blood. He didn’t care. He even welcomed the burn of the scrapes because it kept his mind off… other things. His back was pressed against the door, knees pulled close to his body, and it was fucking uncomfortable, but he didn’t know what else to do. 

Tears burned in his eyes. He had long given up on trying to blink them away. He couldn’t believe that this was the reality he was living in, he couldn’t believe how Harry, fucking _Harry Hart_, could have done that to him. His skin itched as if a thousand ants were crawling over it, and he felt so dirty it hurt.

Choking back a sob, he pressed his eyes shut but he couldn’t chase away the thoughts circling his mind like a fucking merry-go-round. A wave of nausea made him wince.

“You know,” Harry began and Eggsy flinched. He didn’t want to hear his fucking voice, he wanted to yell at him to shut up because there weren’t any words he wanted to hear from him, there couldn’t be. But he wasn’t sure if he would be able to speak if he opened his mouth or if he wouldn’t just end up crying out loud.

“I could easily open the door by force,” Harry said. “But I won’t do it.”

Eggsy’s blood ran hot and he had to keep himself from punching the damn bathroom door.

“How fucking considerate of you!”

Searing tears fell from his chin to the shirt and the floor and his face felt as if he had dunked it into boiling water. He rubbed his eyes, motions clumsy and shaky, but it couldn’t stop the ache of his heart, of his whole body. He sniffled.

“I want you to come out of your own accord.”

“Yeah?” Eggsy laughed and the sound burned his throat and quickly transformed into violent sobs. “Wait until you’re old and rotten. I won’t. Everything is better than being in the same room with _you_. I h-hate you. You hear me? I _freaking _hate you.”

There was a tense silence. Long. Long enough to make Eggsy think that Harry might have left.

“You don’t.”

Eggsy clenched his teeth. How much he wanted these words to be wrong! And yet…

He knew that he didn’t hate Harry. His body, mind, and heart, his whole being refused to hate him, and it was like staying underwater even though he had no oxygen left to breathe. Harry had helped him when no one else had stood up for him. When that smart, handsome, friendly, elegant man had reached out a hand to him, how could he have not taken it?

He had loved him! Not in _that way_, of course, but that didn’t mean that his feelings were any less strong, that didn’t mean that he felt any less like being ripped apart now. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t right, and it hurt so fucking much.

_You’ve destroyed everything, Harry_, Eggsy thought, body shaking with sobs, and he didn’t know what to do. The one thing he had thought he could count on had left him, had kicked him as he curled on the floor, and there was nothing he could do, _nothing_. 

“What do you hope to achieve by this, Eggsy? Locking yourself in a room like a little child,” Harry said and even though he seemed to try, he couldn’t hide the annoyance in his voice completely. _Good_. _Be annoyed. Be angry. Suffer. That’s all I want_. 

“You’re better than this. Let’s talk about this like the reasonable adults we are.” 

_There’s nothing you could say that would make me change my mind_, Eggsy thought as he pushed himself off the ground with trembling hands. _And there’s nothing I could say because you wouldn’t listen. I know that now. _

He couldn’t listen to any more words from Harry’s lying mouth. He wouldn’t. 

Eggsy pressed his eyes shut and sat down on the cold stone floor of the shower. When he turned on the water, it fell down like pattering rain soaking his body and his clothes, and it was cold, and that was good. He wouldn’t need to face burning thoughts and memories. He wouldn’t need to hear words that made his stomach twist and his heart ache. He could pretend to be somewhere else, floating like a small sailing ship in the sea, breaking apart, drowning, dying. _Like her_. It might have been better. 

He could even pretend not to cry when his tears mingled with the stream of water and disappeared down the drain. 

~ 

It couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes later when the last drops of water dripped from the shower head. 

Eggsy turned the tap off and on multiple times until he realised what had happened. When he did, the energy he had regained fled from his body and he tumbled back to the ground. 

The joint of his right knee cracked uncomfortably but he didn’t even have the strength to wince, body and mind exhausted in a way he had never felt before. He sighed, head falling against the wall and it hurt but he didn’t care. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. 

Harry had shut down the water, hadn’t he? 

Eggsy felt a laugh creep up his throat, and he gave in to it, because what else could he do? It sounded ugly and sad and a cold shiver ran down his spine. He might have sobbed if there had been any tears left to cry, if there had been the tiniest bit of strength left in his body. 

What a fucking joke. 

The corners of his mouth sank down, and he sighed again. 

Without something to focus on, his thoughts began to wander. His heart skipped a beat when the picture of J.B. crossed his mind. What he wouldn’t give for pressing his little buddy to his chest right now! 

He had no idea where J.B. was and a part of him hoped that he had run off. Maybe Roxy would find and take care of him, and that wouldn’t be too bad, right? 

The thought made him pause. For a moment his body tensed up and he felt each and every fibre of muscle, cold as they were from the water of the shower. Why did he think about the matter as if he were about to die? Did he _want_ to die? 

_No_, his mind whispered. He didn’t want to die. He might not know what to do, he might not know how to live at all, and he certainly didn’t know how to deal with Harry, but he didn’t want to die either. 

And that meant he couldn’t stay in the bathroom. 

~ 

It took him another ten or so minutes to fight down the waves of panic and his racing heart enough to open the door. 

A part of him was hoping that he could leave this damned house without having to see Harry. But he knew that even if he managed to do that Harry wouldn’t let him off the hook like that. 

A cold shiver ran down his spine when scenes from last night flickered through his mind and a part of him still couldn’t believe that it had been the same Harry he had thought to know. It was as if he had walked into a nightmare. There wouldn’t be an awakening from this one, though. 

Eggsy clenched his hands, heart beating in his throat, and he could do this. He could do this. 

He wasn’t drugged anymore, was he? Harry wouldn’t be able to do anything, and he would get J.B. and talk to Kingsman, and he wouldn’t need to see Harry ever again. It would hurt, but he was in pain anyway. It couldn’t get any worse, could it? 

Nevertheless, it was a relief when Harry wasn’t waiting in front of the bathroom door, and Eggsy only then realised how much he had expected him to be. The wet clothes clinging to his body made him shudder when he forced himself to walk on (or that was what he was telling himself at least). 

He first went to the guest room and Harry wasn’t there either and that should have been good, right? Though, his skin prickled because he expected him to step out of the shadows at any moment and he hated himself for being so damn scared but he couldn’t shake off the feeling. A part of him wished he could just get it over with already. 

J.B. wasn’t there either and for a few moments Eggsy couldn’t move because a wave of hopelessness flooded through him. Then he swallowed down the nausea and forced himself to go on. _Go on_, simple as that. He could do it. One step after the other. 

It wasn’t easy. 

In the end, he did find Harry first.

He was cutting carrots in the kitchen, a picture so oddly mundane that it made Eggsy halt, eyes widening. The wish to turn back time raged through his body with an intensity that almost made him wince. How much he wished that last night hadn’t happened!

He would have stood next to him, they would have joked, and Harry might have taught him how not to cut himself with a knife. It would have been great.

Eggsy sighed inaudibly, heart yearning for something that wouldn’t happen anymore. Because even if it did, it would only be an illusion. A weight came crushing down on his shoulders but he managed to gather himself, managed to take a deep breath, managed to push away that aching wound in his chest. He hated that he had to do the exact same thing Harry had wanted him to do. But there was no other way, was there? 

“Where’s J.B.?” His voice was croaky and low but it didn’t quiver, and he was _glad_. 

Harry didn’t seem to listen, the clacking of knife against wood as steady as before, but Eggsy knew that he wouldn’t need to repeat himself.

“So you’re done with sulking?” 

Eggsy narrowed his eyes and, _wow_, Harry hadn’t just said those words, had he? 

“Y-you’re crazy,” he murmured trying to fight the tremble of his hands and failing. “You’re crazy and I’m leaving. I’ll take J.B. and leave and I’ll tell Kingsman just how nuts you are. You won’t get away with... this.” 

Harry’s hand around the knife froze and Eggsy wondered if it had been such a good idea to say those things after all. However, Harry didn’t throw the blade at him but put it back on the counter with calm motions. 

“Do you remember what I told you about Arthur’s death?” 

Eggsy’s heart leaped but he didn’t know if it was because of the odd content of the words or because even those two, three metres separating them felt like mere inches. He blinked a few times, frowned. Why did his blood feel as if someone had replaced it with ice water?

“Heart attack,” he ground out. The words felt weird in his mouth.

Harry didn’t reply at first. He took off the apron he was wearing to hang it on a hook close to the fridge. The fabric was white and spotless and _pure_, and Eggsy couldn’t help but stare at it for a long moment. It was weird how the colour clashed so much with the new picture of Harry his mind was creating. It didn’t feel right.

Harry nodded slowly. When he turned around, their gazes met and Eggsy knew, _he fucking knew_, what Harry would say even before the first word left his mouth.

“I replaced him.”

_What?! _Eggsy wanted to shake his head but his mind couldn’t follow and the motion ended up being jerky and slow. He shivered, and it wasn’t from the cold of his clothes.

“It was a logical consequence. I couldn’t have taken your place after all.”

“Y-you… could have,” Eggsy whispered. He had no idea how he managed to speak with that icy numbness spreading through his limbs. “You can. I quit. Take my place, be Galahad, I don’t care.”

Harry’s face darkened, his brows contracting. “What about your mother? Your sister? Roxy? You want to disappoint them all?” A click of a tongue. “You wouldn’t do that.”

Eggsy stared at him, frozen, and it was weird how his body seemed to shut down every one of its functions as if refusing to believe in this reality. A weight was pressing on his chest, and he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t move, thoughts whirling like leaves in a storm. His lips were quivering but he didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to do. He was scared, scared of Harry, scared of the future, but most of all scared of himself and the part of him that knew Harry was right.

Eggsy hadn’t realised that Harry was approaching him until an extended hand brushed his arm and he recoiled so violently that bile crept up his throat. His heart raced and his eyes burned when he glared at him.

“D-don’t t-touch me. Don’t you fucking dare touch me!” Tears were rolling down his face like cold rain, the words felt like poison in his mouth, and it was hard not to choke.

“How could you do this to me, Harry? I didn’t want it! You knew I didn’t want it, and you didn’t care! I just want to know… why? Fucking _why,_ Harry?! If you want to get off so badly, why not take some damn prostitute? I bet you could even go on the street and ask the first good-looking fella and he’d be down for it. Fuck, Harry! Why me?”

His chest rose with hasty, shaky breaths, sobs loud in the air, but Eggsy forced himself to focus on Harry, on his words even though he knew that they would hurt.

“I thought it was obvious,” Harry said, face blank, a mask of iron. Eggsy grimaced, and, _no_, it wasn’t obvious. (Or perhaps he had just closed his eyes to the obvious. Perhaps he had chosen to be blind.) When Harry continued, he wished he hadn’t asked for an explanation in the first place.

“I love you.”

To an outsider he might have sounded cold but Eggsy noticed the quivering note in his voice, the note that was soft as well as sad and oddly full of pain. It made it even worse somehow.

“I’ve never loved anyone like I love you. You’re different than the others. You’re special. Your smile puts the sun to shame and your words radiate a warmth I’ve never felt before. You might not notice it but when you enter a room, every gaze turns to you in wordless admiration because you’re just that beautiful. Because you’re just that perfect.”

Harry closed his eyes for a moment too long, sighing. When he opened them again, his gaze mirrored an anguish that made Eggsy shiver, breath stuck in his throat.

“I hate it because I love you, Eggsy, and I want to be with you. And I would give everything for you to be with me, to love me too.”

It hurt. It really did.

Eggsy shook his head, the motion slow and sluggish and painful.

“You don’t love me,” he whispered. “You wouldn’t have drugged me if you’d really loved me. You wouldn’t have kissed me against my will.”

“_What_ do you want me to say?!”, Harry snapped although he seemed to catch himself in the end, the last words notably calmer and lower. Eggsy flinched, nevertheless, and he hated how nervous he was, how weak and helpless he felt. 

_Nothing_!, he wanted to shout back. _There’s nothing you can say!_

Harry beat him to it, but perhaps he had read the words in Eggsy’s eyes anyway. 

“No, don’t answer that question.” Harry shook his head. When he continued, his voice became a murmur, and it almost seemed as if he were talking to himself. “If my words can’t convince you, perhaps my deeds will.” 

_Your fucking deeds are responsible for this shit!_, Eggsy’s mind screamed. His eyes widened because he couldn’t believe how anyone could be so divorced from reality. He would have said so, too, if he hadn’t been too stunned. 

His legs itched to leave this place and he took a careful step backwards. Or he would have if Harry’s gaze hadn’t clashed with his a second later, and he froze, breath dancing somewhere between his ribs. 

“Kiss me.” 

~ 


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll probably upload a new chapter every two days from now on :)

**Chapter 4**

~ 

“Kiss me.” 

Eggsy blinked a few times, unsure if Harry had been serious or not. He couldn’t be, could he? 

But the past events told him that it wasn’t only possible but horribly probable. His blood ran cold, drops of water fell off his hair and to his neck like shards of ice and he shivered. 

Hadn’t Harry listened to him at all? 

He wet his lips, stomach churning, and it was so damn difficult to say this word that should have been the easiest in the world. 

“No,” he whispered, swallowing hard. What was he even doing here? There was nothing holding him here anymore, was there? 

And yet his heart yearned for Harry, old Harry. He yearned for his warmth and comfort because _she_ was gone and he couldn’t deal with losing Harry as well, now that he was back. He couldn’t. A tiny part of him whispered into his ear asking, asking what he would be willing to do to keep him. He hurried to shut it down.

“Eggsy, I don’t want to do this but you’re leaving me no choice.” Harry groaned softly as if he were in pain and how the fuck could _he_ be in pain? 

“Let me put it this way. You kiss me or you’ll see me pointing a gun at your dear dog’s head. No blanks this time.” Harry lifted a brow. “Your choice.” 

Eggsy wondered how many times he could feel as if the earth were dissolving beneath his feet until he would break completely. 

“You can’t be serious,” he whispered. “You wouldn’t... you...” 

Harry would. He _fucking _would. Eggsy knew it and Harry damn well knew it too. 

For the first time since he had woken up he realised in just what kind of fucked-up situation he was stuck in. It only got worse by the minute. His heart was leaping in his throat and took away his breath leaving him choking for air. When he began to shake his head, he could hardly feel the motion and yet couldn’t stop it.

“Y-you’re... you’re bluffing. J.B.’s gone.” He pressed his eyes shut, a trembling hand reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. 

“He’s not. I fed him, he’s sleeping in my bed. I can lead you to him if you want to.” 

The words sucked the strength right out of his muscles leaving him heavy, so exhausted and tired as if he hadn’t slept for a whole week, and he didn’t know what to do, there was nothing he could do, _fucking nothing_. He didn’t even know where to take the will to fight from. He sighed, the sound long and sad and terrifyingly _broken_. The bile at the back of his throat tasted like defeat. 

“A-a...” Eggsy took a shaky breath, fingers digging into the wet fabric of his jeans. “A k-kiss, you say. Just... just a kiss?” 

“Just a kiss,” Harry said. “For now.” 

Eggsy’s heart sank down to the bottom of his stomach. He wasn’t sure if it would ever be able to rise again. 

“Did you look at me?” He tried to smile, failed and grimaced instead. “I’m completely soaked. You don’t want to be kissed by me now.” 

He didn’t have to look at Harry to know that he could see right through his lame excuse. And yet he oh so wished for him to say _you’re right_, for him to apologise, for him to hug him in a normal, comfortable way, for their relationship to go back to what it used to be.

“I can assure you I’d _always_ want to be kissed by you.” 

Eggsy’s shoulders slumped down and he could hardly keep up the pretence, weak as it was. It was as if he were made of glass, cracks running over his skin, and just one other blow would make his whole being burst apart like a dying star. He sighed, forced his eyes to open. 

Harry was still standing in front of him, and that meant Eggsy wouldn’t have to move that much, and that was good, wasn’t it? 

(It wasn’t.) 

Eggsy lifted a trembling hand to cup Harry’s cheek. His skin felt oddly warm, almost hot, and maybe that was because Eggsy felt so damn cold, his whole body shaking. It was weird because he had only ever kissed girls, delicate girls with tiny wrists and small frames, and Harry was none of those things. Nevertheless, it couldn’t be too different, could it? 

He took a deep breath, stomach twisting and fluttering, and he leaned in to press his lips on Harry’s. 

His eyes fell shut, and maybe that was just a reflex, but perhaps it was also because he couldn’t stand looking at him, especially not now. He was frozen, barely feeling the touch over how loud his heart was beating. But then he could feel Harry returning the pressure, lightly, softly as if animating him to do more, and, well, it wasn’t really a kiss, was it?

Eggsy shivered, hand wandering from Harry’s cheek down to the collar of his shirt. When he clenched his fingers around it, they couldn’t tremble anymore, and perhaps he could even imagine his own discomfort away that way. When he pulled Harry closer, head tilted, it was as if he weren’t part of his own body anymore, as if his mind were floating somewhere in the sky with no access to his muscles and their motions. 

He knew that he was kissing Harry, that he was brushing their lips together, skin soft beneath his, and there was a low sigh somewhere, and the air seemed to hum. It was a conscious decision when he let his tongue slid forward, when he let it run over Harry’s bottom lip, nudging, sucking gently. It was easy because he couldn’t feel anything, not really, and maybe that was because he didn’t _want _to feel anything. 

It wasn’t easy anymore when he felt Harry’s hand at his chin, fingers tracing his jawline, and it was just like last night, _and he hated it_, and the touch burned his skin, and a second later his whole body was aflame, and a wave of nausea ran through it. It took all his willpower not to bend over and throw up. 

Instead, he forced himself to lean into the touch a few seconds longer until he couldn’t take it anymore, and that was enough, surely, wasn’t it? 

When Eggsy loosened his grip on Harry’s shirt, the muscles of his hand were throbbing, and that was weird because he couldn’t remember applying that much strength. 

Eyelids fluttering open, he leaned back, the motion slow and careful. His skin prickled because he didn’t know if Harry wanted him to keep going, and he didn’t know if he would be able to if Harry did. When Harry’s fingers left his chin, a weight fell off his chest and he could breathe again. He could still feel the touch, though, ghosting over his skin like spider webs.

“You see, that wasn’t so difficult, was it?” 

_It was only the most difficult thing I’ve ever done_, Eggsy thought. Of course, he didn’t say it. Who knew what Harry would try if he did? 

When he did speak, his face was blank, or at least as blank as he could force it to be under the circumstances. 

“I... I’ll leave now.”

He took a hesitant step backwards, heart jumping, and a part of him could already feel Harry’s hand curl around his wrist, he could feel lips against his and burning touches, and his breath stuttered. But nothing like that happened. 

Gulping, Eggsy took another step backwards, and Harry wasn’t moving, was just looking at him, and that was weird. It might be even scarier than the other scenario. 

“There’s a meeting at the Kingsman Headquarters tomorrow,” Harry said. It was so unexpected that Eggsy needed a few seconds to comprehend the words. “You might want to come.” 

He didn’t say_ I want you to come,_ or _you’ll come whether you want to or not, _but to Eggsy he might as well have said those sentences. It wouldn’t have changed anything. Eggsy could read between the lines as well as most Kingsman agents, though, now he almost wished he couldn’t. 

He hated himself for nodding because he knew that it was what Harry wanted, and hadn’t Eggsy given him too much already? Didn’t he deserve a fucking break from this shit? 

He couldn’t even bring himself to care anymore. He just wanted to take J.B. and leave this damned, this horrifying place. He could still deal with Kingsman later, couldn’t he? 

He took another step backwards, turning around halfway, and it was easy, and he could do this, and soon he would be home again (and he could have cried tears of joy about this thought). He would have broken into a sprint if Harry hadn’t decided to say something just as he stepped over the threshold. 

“Roxy asked me to send you her regards. She wanted to call you but decided against it because she thought it might make you uncomfortable.” The words couldn’t have been more mundane, and yet they made a shiver run down his spine. 

“She’s a nice girl. Intelligent, deft, skilful. Kingsman needs people like her, don’t you agree?” 

And there it was again, that nausea, that horrible helplessness that trickled through his body like paralysing poison. 

“I...” Eggsy wet his lips and tasted bile. “Agree.” 

J.B. was indeed sleeping in Harry’s room and Eggsy might have felt a tear or two running down his cheek when he roused his little friend. (Because his dog was alive, and they could go now, they could leave.) 

He didn’t see Harry again that day. 

However, he might as well have seen him because there was only one face flickering in the corners of his eyes whenever his thoughts dared to wander off, and he knew that there was still a long way to go. 

What he didn’t know was if he would be able to make it. 

~ 

„I really love working with you but… I thought you wanted to take a break?”

Warmth shone in Roxy’s widened eyes but Eggsy couldn’t keep looking at her. The corners of his mouth didn’t want to rise, and his smile couldn’t have felt stiffer and more forced. 

“I do.” He shrugged and the fabric of the suit clenched around his chest as if trying to choke him. “It’s just... I don’t want to miss anything that might be important. I still won’t be going on missions, but I figured a little meeting won’t hurt, right?” 

He had said those words a dozen times to himself already, had gone over them in his mind at least a hundred times. They still didn’t feel right, and maybe that was because they weren’t. 

Nothing felt right. 

And even if something did, how could he trust his feelings when they had deceived him in such an awful way in the past? How could he make a decision when his previous life had been marked by mistakes? 

When he had come home the day before, he had hoped to feel better, lighter, if not happy, then at least not as full of anguish as before. He had been wrong. 

It was weird but he had almost felt worse. 

His thoughts had run in circles, his mind had repeated memories, not just from the previous days but from every moment he had spent with Harry. He hadn’t been able to stop it, he hadn’t known what to do, he hadn’t even known what to feel, and it had been _torture_. 

(It still was.)

Eggsy hadn’t slept a minute last night. A night he had mostly spent cradling a snoring J.B. and trying not to throw up, trying not to cry. Trying not to die.

He had showered thrice and it hadn’t been enough. The water had frozen his skin, had burned his flesh, but it hadn’t been able to erase the lingering touch. Nothing was.

When he had forced himself to get up in the morning, he hadn’t wanted to give in to Harry’s suggestion. To his _demand_.

He had ended up donning the suit anyway because his muscles had itched, and he hadn’t known what Harry would do if he wouldn’t come, and what if anything happened to Roxy? To his mother, his sister? Harry wouldn’t harm them, would he? 

It was torture because Eggsy couldn’t say. He just didn’t know it even though he yearned for being able to deny such an atrocious accusation. He couldn’t take the risk. There was no way he could. 

That was why he was here, at the headquarters, with Roxy, dying a little with each breath. Being here was like walking through poisonous gas, and he wondered how much longer he would be able to go on without collapsing. 

Tears stung behind the mask Eggsy had forced upon his face, and he was angry with himself for being here but he couldn’t go either. 

A part of him wanted to tell Roxy about Harry, about everything that had happened. It was like carrying the sky on his shoulders without being able to share the weight, but it was a secret as terrible as it was unbelievable and dangerous, and a secret it must stay. Deep down he knew that he wouldn’t be able to force those searing words off his lips anyway, to consciously relive those moments. 

It wouldn’t happen, so he had to keep suffering in silence, had to keep choking on tears and words he wouldn’t say, hoping for a change that wouldn’t come if he didn’t do anything. And he just didn’t know what to do. Was there anything he _could_ do?

“I don’t know, Eggsy,” Roxy murmured and a shadow crossed her gaze. “You don’t seem...” 

She sighed (and Eggsy was _glad_). “Well, I know your situation sucks and I can’t begin to imagine what you’re going through but... if you need someone to talk to, I’m there for you. You know that, right?” 

Something was clenching his heart and for a few seconds he couldn’t trust his voice, mouth gaping slightly, eyes open but unseeing. He cleared his throat. “Of course. Eh, thank you, Roxy. I appreciate it. Really do.” 

_You can’t help me anyway_, he thought._ I have to go through this alone._

~ 

Eggsy didn’t see and he didn’t listen. Luckily enough nobody decided to talk to him anyway. 

Most of the time he spent clenching his teeth trying not to look at Harry, trying not to focus on the words he was saying. Because then he would have to focus on the reality that Harry was in this room, too, that they were both in this room, together, and his stomach was churning at the thought alone. 

He might not have been able to concentrate on the meeting anyway. His eyelids were almost as heavy as his limbs and a fatigue crept through his mind that was as dominating as it was scary and frustrating. 

He couldn’t let himself get carried away. He couldn’t let Harry do whatever horrifying thing he might have planned, and he needed his body to stay fit, needed his senses to stay sharp. But it was so easy, so blissfully easy, to rest his eyes for a few moments when no one was looking at him. He had never longed more for a break. 

He took a deep breath, forced his eyes to open wide, and Roxy was talking, wasn’t she? (He didn’t remember a word she said.) 

The meeting might have lasted ten minutes or ten hours, Eggsy couldn’t say. He only knew that his heart skipped a beat when he saw Roxy leaving her seat. He almost jumped to a stand because it meant that the meeting was over and he didn’t want to stay. He couldn’t stay. (He was scared to stay.) 

It was no surprise when Harry’s voice stopped him in his tracks and that realisation was sadder than anything else. 

“...I have a word with you?” 

Eggsy didn’t catch the beginning of the sentence but he knew that it was directed at him with a certainty that pressed the breath out of his lungs. Wasn’t it ironic how he had once wished to spend more time with Harry? How he would have been content if he had got to spend whole days and weeks in Harry’s presence? Not anymore.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t bring himself to reply. A childish, naive part of him was hoping Harry hadn’t meant him with his inquiry after all.

Eggsy could barely make himself step forward, heart fluttering in his chest like a caged hummingbird as he faced the open door (and he wanted to run, wanted to flee). Every feeble motion of resistance ceased when he felt a palm touching his lower back, not really hovering above it but not pressing against it either. It was gentle, soft, almost supporting. (It wasn’t.)

He froze, muscles tensing. 

He didn’t look at Harry even though he could feel the heat of his body radiating from the side, and he shouldn’t be that close, why was he that fucking close again? 

He gulped, still looking at the door, and there was Roxy, nice, beautiful Roxy._ Please, help me!, _a part of him wanted to scream, but that would be childish, that would be weak, and he didn’t need help, he _didn’t_. 

Her eyes widened slightly, an odd expression twisting her face, something that wasn’t quite a frown forming. She came to a halt, a hand grasping the doorframe, a foot just over the threshold. “Eggsy, do... do you want me to wait for you?” 

_Yes_. 

“I don’t think that will be necessary. Thank you, Lancelot,” Harry said and Eggsy wanted to punch him. (He couldn’t.) 

“I think he’s clearly capable of speaking for himself, _Arthur_,” Roxy replied, voice not quite cold but not friendly either. The air seemed to be charged with electricity, and for a few seconds Eggsy couldn’t breathe. 

He wanted to be grateful to Roxy but he couldn’t help but feel as if the situation would only get worse, and maybe that was because the situation _could_ only get worse. 

A thumb dug into his skin before slowly following the line of his back to the spot right between his shoulder blades. He shivered, breath escaping his lungs in a stuttering motion. He would have gulped if his mouth hadn’t been as dry as sandpaper. 

“H-he’s right,” Eggsy said and he grinned and it almost felt real. “You can leave, Roxy. You don’t have to wait for me. Can’t keep you from doing all the fun stuff you gotta do now, can I?” 

She didn’t look convinced but she also didn’t try to argue. “You call me later, okay?” 

“Y-yeah, sure,” he murmured and it hurt. “Of course.” 

When she closed the door, he had to use all his willpower to keep the panic at bay that wanted to spread through his veins. _You’re alone_, his mind purred. _Alone, Eggsy. You can’t possibly try to fight, can you?_

He could. 

Eggsy whirled around backing away from Harry with stiff steps, back tingling and legs trembling. He narrowed his eyes. 

“I don’t want to talk to you,” he snarled. “Choke on your damn words, I don’t care.” 

Harry tilted his head slightly, a small smile on his lips, a smile that one might give a little boy that got a bad mark on a test to reassure him. 

“You weren’t focused today, Eggsy. There’s no point in being here when you’re not even listening.”

“How funny of you to say! Might have to do with the fact that I didn’t even want to come,” Eggsy ground out. A headache pounded behind his temple. “I’ll gladly stay away next time, thank you very much.” 

Harry only lifted a brow. “Ah, you misunderstand me. I don’t want you to stay away. I’m merely asking what I could do to make you feel more... at ease.” 

“N-nothing.” Eggsy shook his head. He would only need to take a few more steps to reach the door, another few to step through it. It wouldn’t take more than a minute, maybe two, he could be gone in a flash. “There’s nothing.” 

Harry sighed, but it didn’t sound angry or sad or frustrated and it was almost as if he had expected Eggsy to say those words. 

“Perhaps you need some time to adjust,” he murmured in a soft, a gentle voice, and he shouldn’t have sounded that soothing, that comforting. He was only doing this for his own benefit, wasn’t he? It was only to make Eggsy do… whatever he wanted him to do, wasn’t it?

“It’s alright, Eggsy. I can wait. You’ll be at the meeting next week, won’t you?” 

Eggsy crossed his arms but he couldn’t shake off the uneasiness that crept through his limps at Harry’s words. He wanted nothing more than to leave Kingsman and never come back but he couldn’t, his mother and sister depended on him. Roxy believed in him. He couldn’t. 

That was why he nodded, the motion slow and careful and painful. 

He wanted to turn around and go, and for a moment Harry didn’t seem to want to say another word, and for a moment Eggsy really thought he would get away this easily.

“I’ll look forward to it.” Harry raised a hand to beckon him closer. “And, Eggsy, kiss me before you leave, okay?” 

Why wasn’t he surprised at all? Why did his heart barely tumble down before beating away as usual? 

When Eggsy made himself kiss Harry, he didn’t taste bile and he didn’t feel the urge to throw up and he went through the motions as if he were following a baking recipe. 

When he was home again, he burst into tears and he didn’t even know why and that might have been scarier than anything else. 

~ 


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

~

It went on like this for the next weeks.

Harry would always ask him to stay after meetings and he would call him into his office every other day. They would always talk about trivialities first (and Eggsy even found himself smiling tentatively sometimes). Harry would always ask for a kiss in the end. And Eggsy would always comply, because what else should he do?

Kissing wasn’t that bad, he had kissed other people often enough, he knew what to do, it never took more than five minutes, sometimes not even two, and it was easy, easy enough. Harry never pressed for more, never asked for more, and that was good, wasn’t it?

He found himself thinking that, maybe, if those kisses were the only thing Harry wanted from him, he could live with that, it would be okay. It _was_ okay, wasn’t it?

He didn’t feel panic bubbling up anymore when he looked at Harry, his stomach didn’t twist and turn in nausea anymore, and the only thing out of the ordinary was the slight prickling of his skin. He didn’t even feel the need to close his eyes while kissing anymore, and that was good too, wasn’t it?

Sometimes he caught himself leaning into the kiss a bit more than necessary, sometimes he caught himself brushing over Harry’s skin with his fingers as if caressing it. That was when he got scared again, when his heart jumped to his throat and ice filled his veins. He always hurried to shove those memories to the far back of his mind, to lock them away like an ugly picture he didn’t want to see again. Sometimes he succeeded.

He still had nightmares. Nightmares with shadows that grasped and pulled him down into a never-ending darkness. Nightmares with Tilde screaming for help (and that was weird because she had died in an accident, a car accident, hadn’t she?). Nightmares with Harry and those were the worst ones.

However, he managed to sleep at least a few hours usually, he managed to call his mother, to meet Roxy and his other friends, he managed to go to the gym, to walk J.B., and it was more or less alright.

One day, it changed. And a part of him had only waited for this change. He had waited like one would await thunder and lightning when looking at the cinder-coloured clouds floating across the horizon.

Harry had called him, had asked him to come over, and that wasn’t unusual. Though, his other request was. _I’d recommend wearing a suit or at the very least one of your better shirts, _he had said. What he hadn’t said was what kind of occasion made it necessary to dress like that. 

Eggsy had an idea but he did _not_ want to follow that trail of thoughts. Harry changing up things could hardly be a good thing, could it? 

Maybe that was why his heart was fluttering in his throat like a bird in a cage when he knocked against the front door of Harry’s house, and why was he here when he had never wanted to come back? 

_It’s alright_, his mind whispered. It was different now, wasn’t it? He knew what to expect, he knew what to do. He would go along with whatever Harry might have planned and it would be fine. Perhaps he would even enjoy the company, perhaps he would even be able to find the old Harry in that splintery mirror that made up his being now. A flicker of the past that might be able to warm his heart and calm his soul. 

A part of him knew that he couldn’t go back but he couldn’t help but feel attached to Harry, couldn’t help but hope for the impossible. 

Maybe that was why he was still accepting his calls, why he was still talking to him, why he was still _kissing_ him despite his mind screaming at him to run. Perhaps that was why he silenced those thoughts of rebellion and repulsion like a child pressing its hands on his ears not to hear the scolding words. Sometimes he wasn’t sure if he was still ignoring those feelings or if they just didn’t exist anymore. 

If Eggsy hadn’t already known that something was different he would have when Harry opened the door. (And his heart skipped a beat.)

Eggsy knew that Harry wasn’t exactly a fan of casual wear but the midnight blue suit he wore now was excessive even by his standards. He had never seen him wearing it before, and looking at it now, he couldn’t help but wonder if Harry had only bought it for this occasion. (Whatever _this occasion_ was.) 

As his eyes roamed over Harry he noticed a piece of lavender sticking out its purple petals from his breast pocket, and he hurried to look up. Harry’s hair looked different too, perhaps newly cut, and Eggsy might have thought it looked good if he hadn’t been busy with frowning. 

With every other breath he inhaled expensive perfume, his heart was racing in his chest and he had to resist the urge to rub his neck. When he raised his voice, he might have blushed slightly. 

“What, eh...” He cleared his throat. “_What_ am I here for exactly?” 

Harry didn’t reply at first, only locked the door after stepping outside, and, _okay_, they wouldn’t stay at his place apparently, they would... they would... 

Eggsy wet his lips. Harry wasn’t... he wasn’t about to take him out on a fucking _date_, was he? 

“As you still seem to be distressed, I’ve decided to bring a little variety into your life, and hopefully joy as well,” Harry said gesturing at Eggsy to follow him. A smile tugged at his lips, a nice, warm smile, a smile that reminded of the time before, and he couldn’t help but smile too, corners of his mouth lifting hesitantly. There hadn’t been many reasons to smile recently.

“An acquaintance of mine had recommended that new restaurant in Covent Garden, and I’ve been there a couple of days ago. The food’s excellent, I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.” 

_Dammit_. Eggsy’s smile fled with the cold wind blowing through his hair and he shivered. 

“A date,” he ground out. At least he wasn’t choking on the words. A part of him wanted to sigh, tired and exhausted, and he had expected this, hadn’t he? (He shouldn’t have come.) 

“No need to hide the truth behind flashy explanations. You’re taking me out on a date, aren’t you?” Eggsy had to fight the urge to clench his teeth, to grind his heels into the ground, to loudly refuse to make another step forward. “I’m no goddamn idiot, _Harry_.” 

Impressively enough Harry didn’t flinch and he didn’t freeze. The only thing indicating that he had listened at all was the slight tremble of his brows as he knitted them. 

“Of course. I wouldn’t want to spend time with you if you were,” Harry stated as if it were the most obvious thing, and Eggsy wanted to scream. 

“Now, back to the evening. They’re showing _Macbeth_ at the theatre. Shakespeare has written better works but the ensemble’s quite good this year, so you might want to see it anyway. Of course, you don’t have to decide now but you might want to keep it in mind.” 

“I don’t want to see Shakespeare,” Eggsy muttered, perhaps just out of spite. Why was Harry doing this? Hadn’t he made clear that he didn’t want... _this_? 

A pretence of romance, a distorted idea of reality that couldn’t be set straight, that couldn’t be more than that. A pretence. It was, wasn’t it? 

_I love you_, the voice of his memories whispered, and the fine hair at his neck stood up. He gulped, then sighed, heart beating in a slow rhythm as if threatening to stop. He was here, wasn’t he? He couldn’t change it anyway. Might as well get it over with. 

“How...” He closed his eyes for a long second, took a deep breath. “How do we get to that restaurant?” 

Harry put a hand on his shoulder giving it a light squeeze, almost as if saying_ it’s alright_, almost as if saying _good of you to comply_. Eggsy couldn’t say if it was a good thing or not. 

“I’ve called a cab,” Harry murmured next to his ear, and Eggsy couldn’t help but shiver. “You’ll see, it will be just fine.” 

~ 

A couple of violins sang in the background, loud enough to fill the room with their soft, drawn-out notes, but not loud enough to drown out the attempts at conversation. It was annoyingly soothing, annoyingly _perfect_. 

Eggsy didn’t want to like it, and yet he did. 

However, what he felt above all was the strange sense of being out of place, skin prickling, stomach twisting. It was like appearing at a costume party in jeans and t-shirt even though he wasn’t even wearing anything different than most of the people sitting around them. 

Harry had chosen a table at the far back of the restaurant, a nice table, not because it was decorated in a different way than the other ones. The same silken white cloth hid the doubtless expensive wooden table top, the same candles glimmered from silver candle stands, all in all making the table a perfect replica of the other ones.

It was a nice table because it didn’t put them in the spotlight, and that was the only thing he had been hoping for really. Not to draw attention. 

He was at least fairly certain that he wouldn’t meet anyone familiar here, not between rich heirs and businessmen, and he was glad because he wouldn’t survive _that_. 

Perhaps that was why it felt wrong to be here too. He knew what it was like to be poor, he knew what it was like to fight over bread and pizza. Being able to order a small sized entree for 30 pounds felt... weird. He had made an offhanded comment about not being hungry and hadn’t ordered one. Maybe that also had to do with his wish to leave this place as soon as possible. 

What he had ordered was some kind of lamb with fancy sounding side dishes that ended up being colourful pieces of vegetables he couldn’t recognise. 

When he spiked something that looked like a yellow leaf with his fork to examine it, Harry rolled his eyes. Eggsy smirked. “Don’t tell me you know how that’s called. I’m not even sure it’s edible.” 

There was a spark rushing through Harry’s gaze, brightening the blue to the nice colour of the sea in summer. “You know, I once had to live off decades-old cans of corn for a whole weak while waiting for the right time to blow the cover of a neo-Nazi organisation,” he said. “I think you’ll be fine.” 

“Yeah?” Eggsy lifted a brow, fork sinking down, and Harry’s story sounded much more interesting than this weird food. He wasn’t really hungry anyway. “I like corn. I’d actually _love_ to eat a can of decades-old corn right now. At least I’d know what I’m eating then.” 

“Perhaps you also would if you hadn’t just ordered the first dish without reading the menu.”

Eggsy had to admit to himself that Harry might be right. He wouldn’t tell _him_, though. 

“Perhaps I like surprises,” he suggested pursing his lips, tilting his head slightly. And why was he talking to Harry when he only wanted this evening to end? 

“Perhaps.” Harry nodded, smile tugging at his lips, and for a moment Eggsy felt surprisingly good. There was a wave of warmth running through his body, he felt light as the clouds in the sky, and he was even able to tune out the bickering voices of snobbish women with extensions and sunglasses wearing men with issues. 

For a moment he could almost forget why Harry had brought him to this place (and it couldn’t be for a conversation or two, could it?). His churning stomach didn’t tire of reminding him though. 

In the end, the food _was_ excellent, the lamb as well as the pear sorbet he ordered as a dessert and the spoonful of chocolate mousse he stole from Harry. 

In the end, it _was_ a nice evening. 

Harry didn’t mention Kingsman meetings or love or kisses or any of the other topics Eggsy prayed to never talk about again. They did talk, though, about countries Harry had visited, about countries Eggsy wanted to visit, about the food and why they always had such tiny plates in restaurants like this. They even exchanged a few thoughts about Shakespeare even though Eggsy still couldn’t muster the wish of seeing _Macbeth_. (He would have preferred _Much Ado About Nothing._) 

They laughed, they joked, they smiled, and it was nice, annoyingly nice. Eggsy didn’t want it to be nice. It was almost worse than painting Harry as a complete villain, because there were doubts in him, doubts that only grew, doubts that made him feel as if he were standing on a melting sheet of ice. It was horrible.

When Harry asked him to go for a walk, he nodded even though the volume of his heartbeat seemed to shatter his chest and ears. (Soon he would wish to relive those precious scenes at the restaurant, those scenes that, despite the lingering uneasiness, had almost felt normal, had almost felt like _before_.) 

“There’s another reason why I wanted to see you,” Harry said right after they had left the buzzing street right in front of the restaurant to go through a smaller alley. Garlands of flowers and softly gleaming chains of lights reached from one building to another throwing dancing shadows to the earth. If you squinted you could almost imagine walking through a carpet of stars. It really was one of the most beautiful corners of London (and Eggsy hated to admit it, even if only to himself). 

Harry’s words made his heart skip a beat, made his steps stutter, and a part of him didn’t want to distance himself from the restaurant, from the people walking around. He didn’t want to be alone with Harry, not even at a place as beautiful as this. 

He stopped and looked at him, the hope Harry wouldn’t be able to notice his inner turmoil dashing through his mind. The feeling made him pause, made him frown, because why was it important to him what Harry might notice or not? 

“What’s the matter?”, Eggsy said, mouth oddly dry all of a sudden. However, Harry didn’t bring up one of _those_ topics. In fact, what he was saying couldn’t have been farther from what Eggsy had expected. 

“I might need to leave London for a while, a few months, a year perhaps.” Harry shrugged, and he didn’t look too troubled, he looked entirely too confident, and that was weird, wasn’t it? “Research programs. I’d still lead the meetings but I wouldn’t be physically present. I might decide to rent my house for that time span, I’m not certain yet. I just wanted to let you know, Eggsy.” 

_Leave London?_

Eggsy’s eyes widened, and he couldn’t help but wonder if Harry meant leaving the country as well. Leaving him alone? 

It was weird how his first feeling wasn’t rushing euphoria, because he should be happy, shouldn’t he? He should be glad that Harry had seen reason, apparently, _hopefully_, that Harry wouldn’t make him do things that scared him more than anything else.

Eggsy would be free to walk away from meetings at the same time as Roxy, he would be able to plan his day without glancing at the phone wondering when Harry might call. 

It would be great, wouldn’t it? 

And yet he couldn’t help but feel a pang of panic in his chest, a pang as if being shot, and his ears rang and his eyes stung. It was weird. It was horrifying in a way he couldn’t comprehend. And perhaps he didn’t want to. 

He swallowed hard, eyes roaming over Harry’s much too familiar features. 

“Alright,” he murmured, and the word burned his lips, and a part of him wanted to take it right back. (He shouldn’t want to). He might have added something if another voice hadn’t burst through the silent night’s air.

It wasn’t Harry’s. 

“Don’t scream,” the man with the dark woolly hat growled, pointing the glimmering barrel of his gun right at Eggsy’s head. “Give me your money, and there won’t be any specks of blood on your darn nice suits. Heard they ain’t easily washed off.” 

A laugh, but Eggsy hardly noticed it captured by his mind that tried to realise what the fuck was happening. His heart jumped to his throat. How could he step from a conversation about Harry’s (and his) future to a damn _armed robbery_?! 

Out of the corners of his mind he saw Harry paling, eyes wide and oddly... scared. If Eggsy hadn’t known him that well, it might not have been visible, but it was, and Harry _was_ scared. A part of Eggsy was glad that this didn’t seem to be just another of Harry’s macabre ideas. 

It was weird how he wasn’t scared himself. Perhaps that was because he had shaken hands with death much too often already, a thing that was almost unavoidable as a Kingsman. But why was Harry scared then, he who had been an agent far longer than Eggsy?

It didn’t take Eggsy more than a few seconds to examine the man, to notice his weird footing, the trembling legs, and it would be easy to kick them away, wouldn’t it? 

But first, the gun. 

“Calm down, man. No need for drastic measures, you’ll get your money,” Eggsy said, calm and collected, lifting his hands slowly to the sky, searching the gaze of the man, those dark round eyes, insecure, horrified, devastated eyes. _Easy_. “Let me just-“ 

He leaped forwards and the man startled in surprise, mouth gaping, hand with the gun shaking. It was easy to grab the weapon and fling it down the street. It was easy to throw the man to the ground, the impact making his body shake, and they would just need to call the security men at the restaurant and they would be fine, wouldn’t they? It was easy, no reason to be scared, and-

What Eggsy hadn’t noticed was the knife in the other hand. 

It was luck when he moved to the side right when the arm of the man shot upwards, the dull glimmer of a blade dashing through the air, but the short distance made it impossible to dodge entirely. It wouldn’t have been possible even if he had noticed the weapon before.

He felt no pain at first, and the logical part of his brain told him that it must be the adrenaline, or perhaps the man had missed him after all. But, _no_, there had been a hissing sound and the sleeve of his shirt was ripped, wasn’t it? He could feel the frayed edges where the fabric was torn brush against his skin making it itch, making it burn. Making it burn?

The man hadn’t missed, had he?

There was a glazing sensation spreading from his arm, an angry throbbing, flames eating his flesh, and he grimaced, groaned maybe. His eyes fluttered shut, blood pounding in his ears, and he fell off the man, right hand grabbing the asphalt to support himself.

When he opened his eyes again, there was a dark figure standing next to him, and he blinked hastily, focused, clenched his teeth to fight away the pain, and it was Harry, wasn’t it?

Harry’s right foot was resting on the man’s chest keeping him from running away. A part of Eggsy noticed the way it wasn’t only resting, the way it was pressing down more than necessary, the way the man’s breath stuttered, the way his eyes widened with fear, pupils dark and big and scared.

Eggsy’s eyes darted upwards and he noticed the knife in Harry’s hand, the man’s knife, blade darkly stained, stained with blood. His own blood, wasn’t it?

He noticed the look in Harry’s gaze and a part of him prayed that the shadows of the night were playing tricks again because the look made his flesh crawl, made his heart jump out of his ribcage, and it wasn’t even directed at him. There was a dark spark, a _deadly_ spark, a cold, calculating confidence that didn’t seem right, and for a horrible second Eggsy wouldn’t have been surprised if Harry had slit the man’s throat in that very moment. Why did such a thought even cross his mind?

Harry wouldn’t do that, right? _He couldn’t_.

It was a relief when the voice of a policeman rang through the street, and Harry stepped away lowering the knife, and the breath Eggsy had held escaped through his teeth. The uneasiness didn’t want to leave, though, and he couldn’t look at Harry the same way again.

However, he hadn’t been able to for a long time now, had he?

~


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

~

“It isn’t necessary, Harry. It’s just a scratch, believe me!”

Harry didn’t seem to listen to him as he turned the key, the clattering sound loud in the night.

Eggsy wet his lips, skin prickling as his gaze roamed over the silent buildings enclosing them like a cage. The street where the cab had dropped them off loomed at the end of the alley, oddly far away. _I don’t want to be here_, a part of him whispered, and it was weird how strong the urge to leave was.

The evening had been nice enough, aside from the attempted robbery of course, but he was tired. A part of him couldn’t forget Harry’s gaze as he had looked at the man, just before the police had arrived. He felt a shiver running down his spine just thinking about it. His arm still burnt, the sleeve slightly wet, but it was alright, the blade hadn’t dug deep enough to hurt major veins. He really didn’t need Harry to patch him up!

“It’s late, I don’t want to keep you from sleeping,” Eggsy said, but he knew it wouldn’t convince Harry the moment the words left his mouth. His grin trembled as if the corners of his mouth didn’t want to stay raised. He kept it up anyway.

“I once knew a man who died from _a scratch_ just like yours because it got infected. He had the same carefree attitude as you, I’m sure you would have gone along just splendidly.” Harry opened the door waving him in. “I only want to make sure the wound’s clean and disinfected.”

Eggsy sighed. How could he say no?

It was weird stepping over the threshold and he didn’t even know why. It was like crossing a cold waterfall. He could almost feel drops like rain creeping down his skin, cold as ice, and he shivered, swallowed hard. Harry led him to his bedroom and it was hard not to wince when he saw the bed, burgundy red blanket smoothed out, pillows neatly propped up on the mattress. It was almost like looking at a picture out of a catalogue of furniture.

When Harry gestured at him to sit down, Eggsy clenched his teeth but did so despite a surge of reluctance. His movements were hesitant, careful, though, as if he could rip the fabric or break the wooden base if he moved too fast. It was kind of pathetic, wasn’t it?

“You can take off your shirt, I’ll throw it away for you,” Harry said from the bordering bathroom, voice slightly muffled, and there was the clacking sound of a cupboard being opened. “You can get one of mine when you leave.”

Eggsy looked down to the buttons of the shirt that shimmered so white, so innocent, as if asking him to let them stay closed. His hands felt heavy as he raised them, but he could hardly keep wearing a ruined shirt when the wound was about to be cleaned, could he? Why did he feel such a strong wave of nausea at the thought of undressing?

It was only his shirt, wasn’t it? Harry must have already seen him topless, if only at that awful test with the flooded room. It was alright.

He took a deep breath and began to unbutton the shirt with trembling fingers. He opened the last one right when Harry returned and his heart skipped a beat.

Frowning he hurried to pull his arms out of the sleeves, to let the shirt fall to the floor. Why was he so damn anxious? He had thought to be over it, to be fine, and now he was trembling again, and he _hated_ it.

Harry’s gaze roamed over him and he didn’t stare but there was something in his look that didn’t seem right, something too deep to reach, too blurry to recognise. Eggsy had to resist the urge to cross his arms but there was a soft tingling somewhere in his stomach, and that was weird. Maybe even scary.

“Good,” Harry murmured, and a part of Eggsy wondered if he was talking to him or if he had only thought out loud. He rubbed his neck, lifted a brow, and why couldn’t Harry just freaking start already?

That was when Harry averted his gaze, _finally_, but then he pulled up a wooden chair out of the corner of the room to sit down in front of him. Eggsy couldn’t say if he didn’t prefer being stared at after all.

“That was quite reckless of you,” Harry muttered. When he began to dab off specks of dried and fresh blood with a wet kitchen towel, staining it rosy red, Eggsy tensed up even though he tried his best to force his body to calm down. He noticed that Harry didn’t wear his jacket anymore, sleeves of his shirt rolled up. Though, he only really noticed because he had to keep his mind off the fingertips brushing against his skin every now and then, the knees grazing his own because Harry really was _that_ close.

The strands of his salt-and-pepper hair shone in the dim light of the room, blue gaze oddly sparkling, and Eggsy didn’t want to look at him but it wasn’t as if he had a choice. They were too close. They were like magnets hovering next to each over and the next small push would decide whether they would repel or attract each other.

“I’m a Kingsman,” Eggsy replied chuckling lightly, shakily, and he was glad that his voice didn’t quiver. “What did you expect?”

Harry didn’t answer for what seemed like an eternity, brows contracted as if in deep thought, and Eggsy couldn’t help but wonder what kind of thoughts were flooding his mind. He couldn’t help but wonder what Harry really thought of him, why he did all those things, why he liked him. (_Loved him_.) It was weird how a part of him, tiny but terrifyingly real, saw what Harry felt for him, saw it and wasn’t scared, how a part of him relished the idea that it was love because it meant that Harry cared for him, that he would be there for him, that he wouldn’t leave him (_like her_).

Except that he would, wouldn’t he?

_I might need to leave London for a while, a few months, a year perhaps_, floated through his mind like mist in the early morning and his heart skipped a beat.

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” Harry whispered, almost too quiet to understand, and the hand at his arm stopped moving. Eggsy’s mouth went dry. There was a rush of anticipation making his skin prickle, and how could that be when he didn’t even know what he was anticipating?

Harry put the towel to the side, and Eggsy took a deep breath, the dizziness, the tension of his mind trickling away somewhat. He would never be able to be completely relaxed in Harry’s presence again, would he?

They didn’t share any more words while Harry disinfected the cut, while he put on a bandage, and Eggsy didn’t know if he should be glad or disappointed. He thought he might be able to leave afterwards, and that would be a good thing, _it must be_, but he had never been that lucky, had he?

It was only after Harry had secured the gauze with two plasters that he spoke again. A distant part of Eggsy noticed that his fingers weren’t leaving his arm even though he should be done, palm resting against his biceps as if holding onto it.

He _was_ done, wasn’t he?

“I enjoyed this evening,” Harry said, voice low, thumb running in gentle circles over his skin. “I hope you feel the same way.”

Eggsy couldn’t breathe. Harry held his gaze and the room dissolved into clouded colours around them. He didn’t want to nod, and yet he did. His stomach twisted, but he couldn’t have done anything else, could he? It was the truth, wasn’t it?

Harry smiled, but it was a small smile, barely grazing the corners of his mouth, perhaps only intended for himself. 

He didn’t surprise Eggsy this time. He wasn’t rushing or pressing forward, he leaned in slowly, gaze gleaming as if saying, _see, you have time to dodge, to walk away_. As if saying, _it’s your choice_. As if saying, _it’s your fault if you don’t do anything_.

It really was awfully unfair, wasn’t it?

Eggsy felt his body growing heavy, heart pounding between his ribs in agonising beats as the seconds trickled by like sand, and _he wasn’t doing anything_. He couldn’t. He couldn’t reject Harry, could he? He needed him. It hurt. But being separated, being alone, hurt even more.

“Don’t leave me,” Eggsy whispered, and the words were humming with the tears he was choking back. “Please, _d-don’t_… don’t leave me, Harry.” 

“I’ll stay with you, my love,” Harry breathed against his lips, and then he was kissing him. 

How often had they kissed already? 

How often had they kissed despite Eggsy’s hope that it wouldn’t happen again? 

When had he given up on that hope?

It was weird how familiar Harry’s lips felt as they melted against his, how he recognised every dip and line and curve, how his body recognised them, too. How it rejoiced. How easy it was to nip at the bottom lip, to suck gently, to let his tongue slide forward as Harry opened his mouth for him. 

Eggsy couldn’t breathe. Fire burned his throat, burned his blood and muscles, and it hurt, but it didn’t matter. Nothing really mattered. His thoughts were yelling at him, muffled as if they couldn’t reach him, as if they were banging against the walls of a windowless prison. And wasn’t he the prison guard himself? 

_I need to do this_, he told himself. It wasn’t_ I want to do this_, but it was close enough, and the thoughts were so similar that he couldn’t say if it wasn’t a bit of both after all. 

_How far are you willing to go then?_, something whispered inside him and he closed his eyes, and floated, and fell, and his hand reached out to open the buttons of Harry’s shirt. 

A hand grasped his chin to tilt his head a bit more and Eggsy followed without resistance, pressed himself even closer (and a tiny, locked-up part inside him was disgusted by himself). 

It wasn’t before he had opened the last button that Harry loosened the kiss to let his lips brush against Eggsy’s cheek, to follow the line of his jaw with gentle pecks. Eggsy didn’t know how he managed to inhale, but he could hear his own breath, the panting, the shuddering gasps, and that meant that Harry could hear him too. He could feel him smile against his cheek, could feel the words ranging through his body even before they reached his mind. 

“Eggsy,” Harry murmured. His hands ran down his back, his sides, his waist, sending tingling waves across his skin on their trail. When he tightened his grip just above the hipbones, his fingers dug into the skin as if they wanted to mark it and Eggsy couldn’t help but shiver. 

“Darling, you were stunning in that shirt already,” a kiss to the shell of his ear, and Eggsy’s face flushed, mouth dry like sandpaper. “But I think I prefer this.” 

He didn’t want to hear this, but a part of him must have liked it after all because heat pooled in his abdomen, and it was better that way, wasn’t it? It was easier. 

When Harry pulled him on his lap, Eggsy’s heart might have shot out of his chest, but he didn’t have time to recapture it. Harry’s cock was hard and throbbing, and he could feel it even with two layers of fabric between them. It made him wince, face heating up even more, and for a second he didn’t know if he could go through with this anymore.

It was unfair how he hardened at the friction despite himself, how he had to bite back a moan, how dizziness engulfed him like a devastating storm. A part of him wanted to sob, and perhaps moaning was better after all. 

_I need to do this_, drifted through his mind and he clang to the thought shoving away the doubts that tried to grasp him. The doubts wouldn’t make it better, would they? That path had been blocked a long time ago. He had no choice. Eggsy searched Harry’s lips for a kiss, stomach twisting and tingling. _I need him._

“Take off your trousers for me,” Harry whispered, but it was loud enough, horrifyingly loud, and the words vibrated in the dense, heated air. 

“I...,” Eggsy began, a stifled, breathless, pathetic sound. He couldn’t speak but he didn’t even know what to say anyway, and there wasn’t anything he could say, was there?

He forced himself to nod, eyes fluttering open but unseeing. Harry’s grip around his hips loosened as if prompting him to stand up, and he did. He took a deep breath, forced himself to move, not think, and it made it slightly easier to open the belt. His fingers quivered only slightly as he pulled down yet another protective layer of clothing but he couldn’t quite bring himself to meet Harry’s gaze while doing it. 

He only looked up when Harry’s hand caught his chin and forced him to. His breath stuttered, and there was something in Harry’s expression that made him feel drunk, excited, and scared at the same time. It was like looking into the deepest part of the ocean, the twirling darkness that appeared so vast and empty despite the knowledge that creatures you couldn’t even imagine in your most troubled nightmares were lurking in the shadows. Harry was smiling, and it only made it worse. 

“Well done,” he purred. His hand caressed Eggsy’s neck, fingers dancing through his hair as he pulled him in for a short kiss. It burned his lips. “You’re doing great, my love.” 

A kiss to his forehead, and Eggsy couldn’t keep his eyes open, limbs and lids heavy, and a distant part of his mind noticed that Harry had opened his own trousers, too, that he was stepping out of them. 

“I’m proud of you, Eggsy.” 

Eggsy grimaced, shivered, sighed in a low, low voice, and he hated how turned on he was, how he couldn’t fight, how he might not even want to fight. _I need to do this_.

The blanket was soft against his back as he lay down on, and a part of him would have gladly curled up beneath it to sleep. It wasn’t possible, though, was it? His fingers wanted to clutch the silken fabric, but perhaps that was only because he felt as if being thrown around by a hurricane with no lifeline in sight. When he inhaled, it felt like breathing flames.

The mattress dipped when Harry climbed next to him, hands digging into the cushion on either side of his head. The sparks of light dancing on Eggsy’s closed lids disappeared, and Harry must be leaning over him, and, _yes_, there was warm breath against his face again, and he shuddered.

A hand cupped his cheek, lips pressed against his, and the kiss was long and deep, and Eggsy tried his best to return it but couldn’t quite find the strength, mind hazy and dizzy and trapped. It was almost as if Harry were trying to push all the tension and frustration of the past years onto him, and he just couldn’t keep up with it. He couldn’t breathe.

Right when he thought he might pass out (and that wouldn’t be too bad, would it), Harry pulled away. The sound Eggsy made was something between a gasp and a moan, and he almost couldn’t hear the words over how loud his heart was beating.

“Open your eyes,” Harry said and Eggsy opened his eyes despite the protest of his mind. But it was easy to drown out, wasn’t it? Harry’s gaze captured him, and he couldn’t blink for a long moment, and perhaps that was why his eyes began to sting, but Harry smiled, a warm smile, a smile like sunrises, and that was good enough.

“You’re beautiful,” Harry whispered, thumb running gently over his cheekbone to his lips, touch light as feathers, and Eggsy could almost believe him. “Keep them open, darling, okay?”

_Why?_ He didn’t want to. A pang rang through his chest and he resisted the urge to clench his teeth. Wasn’t it unfair how Harry seemed so keen on taking every decision from him that should have been his to make? Wasn’t it unfair how he couldn’t do anything against it? A bitter weight stuck in his throat, and it was hard to nod. He did it anyway.

“I love you,” Harry murmured against his lips and the words cut into his flesh even deeper than the knife. Out of the corners of his eyes Eggsy could see how his hands wandered downwards on the mattress, and Harry moved, head dipping down to plant soft kisses on Eggsy’s shoulder blades, on the line between his ribs. Each touch sent a new tingle of electricity through him, and he focused on that feeling. (It was better than the ache of his heart.)

Harry’s lips closed around his right nipple, tongue curling around it, and _fuck_ if that didn’t make any thought stray away from his mind. Eggsy couldn’t help but arch into the touch, gasping. His fingers grabbed the blanket in a hopeless search for control, muscles tensing as arousal dashed through him like lightning. _Dammit_.

Harry’s hand must have darted through the gap between his body and the mattress because it was resting against his lower back then, lifting his upper body, pressing him closer, enclosing him like a golden cage. Eggsy’s grip loosened, and he reached out, flew, fell, ran through a burning forest, then, _finally_, found Harry’s shoulders. _I need him_. He needed to hold onto him. He needed him to make those feelings of helplessness, of sadness, of disgust with himself disappear.

They would return, surely, but he didn’t mind not having to think, even if only for a while. He needed that dizziness. Because it was the only thing that would bring him through this.

His erection pressed against Harry’s knee, and he grinded against it, moaning loudly, and it made his whole body tremble and tingle of ecstasy and shame. His legs opened by themselves, but he didn’t even feel them anymore, not really. Every piece of skin Harry was touching was ablaze and that was the only important thing.

Harry pulled him closer and onto his lap, lips breaking away from his chest. Eggsy groaned, the air too cool, his skin too sensitive, a part of him yearning for the heat of Harry’s mouth.

When Harry kissed him again, his lips were wet from sweat and saliva but it was nice enough. It was nice to be able to look down on him for once, it was nice to shove their hips together, to see stars at the contact because it meant Eggsy wouldn’t be able to think of anything else. It meant he wouldn’t be able to think of _what_ exactly he was doing here. It meant he could do this (and he needed to).

When he felt fingers hooking into the rim of his pants to pull them down, it was no surprise. It shouldn’t be. And yet he couldn’t help but wince as he tried to breathe through the sickening feeling of exposure and betrayal that came with being naked in front of Harry.

But it had been his choice, hadn’t it? And wasn’t it a small price to pay for getting Harry to stay with him? For not having to be alone?

“You don’t need to be ashamed,” Harry said, breath tickling his cheek, and Eggsy’s heart leaped at the echo of his voice as if it were the only sound in the world. “I love you,” a kiss to the side of his jaw, just next to his ear.

“I _want_ you,” a kiss to his lips, teeth gently sucking in the bottom lip, and Harry’s voice grew low, throaty, almost growling, and it made his whole body shudder in ugly anticipation. “You have no idea how much I want you.”

_Be quiet_, he yelled behind sealed lips, _I don’t want to hear it! _But it was far too late for that.

“It’s alright to want this, Eggsy,” Harry murmured. Eggsy knew he was smiling without looking at him, and it was horrible. His thoughts ran upside down, heat and nausea fighting in his stomach, and his eyes went wide and staring.

_I don’t want this, do I?_ His hasty breaths couldn’t keep up with his need for oxygen anymore, the borders of vision blackening, and he needed to close his eyes, _needed to_, and he did so despite Harry’s wish. _Do I want this?_

His body was tingling, flames running through his veins, and his cock was twitching, throbbing, _aching_ – for Harry, wasn’t it? He clenched his teeth, and somehow managed not to sob. His hands slid from Harry’s shoulders and he didn’t notice that he was slumping forward until his forehead met Harry’s cheek. He pressed his face into his neck, inhaled shakily, inhaled the faint scent of perfume and sandalwood, and wouldn’t it be nice if Harry held him, hugged him, told him that everything would be alright?

“It’s alright,” Harry whispered close to his ear, and fingers ran through his hair as if combing it, and for a moment Eggsy felt light, floating, flying. _I can do this_. “It’s alright…”

_It’s alright_.

Eggsy turned his head, lips grazing the freshly shaved line of Harry’s jaw, pressing against it, inhaling, exhaling. Wandering farther to kiss him, kiss him as if his life depended on it, and perhaps it did. Harry returned the kiss without hesitation. _Of course_.

Of course.

There was only one way this could go.

If Eggsy hadn’t been busy with pressing himself against Harry and fighting his panicking nerves, he would have sighed, would have grimaced. He had only ever slept with girls, had considered himself straight ever since hitting puberty, and yet here he was.

Here he was.

At least he had read and heard a thing or too, or else he probably wouldn’t have been able to make himself do what he had to do. He loosened the kiss.

“You have, eh…” Eggsy swallowed hard looking down to where the edges of Harry’s open shirt were touching, because he wouldn’t be able to meet Harry’s gaze and say _this_, he wouldn’t. “…lube, don’t you?”

His voice sounded emotionless, bored even, as if he were reciting a grocery list, but it was the only way he would be able to talk at all. The only thing keeping him from breaking.

It was a tender kiss when Harry’s let his lips brush against his, a kiss as sweet as roses, and his skin prickled, and his heart pounded in a sad, slow rhythm.

“I could never hurt you,” Harry said as if the thought alone were a terrible offence.

_You already have_, a quiet part of Eggsy whispered but he couldn’t listen to it. It would make him doubt, it would make him hesitate, and he couldn’t allow that to happen. Though, the thought must have already tinted his mind because he felt a rush of anger, eyes blazing as he looked up, and it gave his voice a sharp edge.

“Then what are you waiting for?! _Fuck me_.”

It might not have been the right thing to say but he felt like walking a tightrope that grew thinner and thinner by the minute. He didn’t know how much time there was until the inevitable fall. He needed to lose that tension. He needed to sleep. And he just wanted to get it over with.

Harry looked at him as if he were seeing for the first time, a dark sparkle in his gaze, and Eggsy’s mouth ran dry, _again_, and he had never wanted to take words back that badly.

“You don’t…,” Harry muttered, voice oddly strangled, oddly raspy. His lips curled to a smile as he raised his hand to let his knuckles run over Eggsy’s cheek in a motion of gentle forbearance. Eggsy shivered, couldn’t blink, frozen like a rabbit staring at a cat. “You shouldn’t say such things, darling. I was seriously tempted to pass up on the lube for a moment.”

Eggsy couldn’t help but shiver, cheeks almost as hot as the lower regions of his body.

“Bottom drawer of the bedside table.”

He threw a glance to the place Harry had described, looked back again, and only then realised that Harry wanted _him_ to get it. _Damnit_.

Trying not to think about what kind of view Harry would be getting, Eggsy hurried to move far enough across the mattress to pull open the drawer. Harry’s gaze burned his skin, and his hand quivered, his grip sweaty and unsteady. It was easy to find the bottle but he expected it to slide through his fingers at every moment. It was horrible.

He couldn’t look at hm when he pressed the bottle against Harry’s chest, jaw clenched, hoping against reason that Harry would take it wordlessly, that this ordeal would find an end.

Harry didn’t take it.

“As you seem so… _well-informed_, why don’t you do it yourself?”

_I hate you_, Eggsy thought wanting nothing more than to run out of this room. He didn’t do it because he couldn’t hate Harry, not really, he couldn’t bear the thought of losing him, and_ he needed to do this_.

That was why he glared but nodded, why he opened the bottle, and it wasn’t easy, wasn’t easy at all. He couldn’t even say what he was feeling anymore. Why was there a spark of arousal running through his veins? Why was he turned on even though he didn’t want to be? Why was he falling deeper and deeper into a hole he wouldn’t be able to climb out of?

The lube was cool and slick between his fingers. He hoped it would be enough because he wouldn’t touch that damned bottle again even if his life depended on it.

He averted his gaze, eyes firmly locked on the creases next to his knees that broke the blanket into soft fragments. It was weird to touch _that_ part of his body, even weirder to have Harry next to him, looking at him, _watching _him, and he was glad that he had showered before going to the restaurant.

He was torn between wanting to be done as quickly as possible (and thereby sparing himself the shame of fingering himself in front of Harry) and wanting to be able to walk without pain or internal bleeding the next day.

There was no real choice, was there?

Eggsy wanted to close his eyes, but Harry wanted him to keep them open, and, well, he would get through it somehow. He had to. He took a deep, shuddering breath, and inserted a finger, and it was even weirder than he had imagined it to be. He allowed himself a few seconds to get used to the feeling before twisting, moving his finger around. It didn’t seem to get better.

“Relax, Eggsy,” Harry said. His heart leaped to his throat, skin tingling, because Harry really _was_ watching him, damnit, and Eggsy might have died a bit. “You’re doing great, darling.”

He let his breath out between his teeth and somehow managed to loosen his muscles, to insert another finger, to scissor them. He didn’t know if it was because his amateurish motions were working after all, or if it was because of Harry, but his mind grew hazy and sparks ran through his body. He wet his lips with a heavy tongue.

Time trickled by. He couldn’t say when it had begun to change, but he almost felt as if those two fingers were too small, the friction barely noticeable, and he groaned slightly as a drop of sweat ran down his temple. It was hot. Too hot.

His eyes ran over Harry, and when had he discarded the fear of looking at him? He only really noticed what he was doing when Harry looked him straight into his eyes, gaze dark with something that looked too much like desire. A look that shouldn’t have been directed at him, and yet it was, and Eggsy grimaced, cock twitching in response, and it was fucking horrible and _fucking hot_.

“That’s enough,” Harry growled more than he spoke, and Eggsy pulled away his hand right when Harry’s finger grasped his chin to press their lips together. Eggsy sighed into it, and relaxed, and he had never done that before while kissing Harry, but Harry must have counted on it anyway.

Eggsy hadn’t noticed that Harry had taken off his pants, but the cock pressing against his naked skin was as real as it was hard and throbbing with heat. He might have tried to back off, and he couldn’t believe how he had thought he could do this, and _he could not_, could he?

Harry didn’t seem to see his doubts, or perhaps he just didn’t care, and Eggsy would have loved to give him a nice, painful uppercut as Harry pressed forward. Then he entered him, and every thought fled from his mind. Eggsy might have sobbed or moaned. Perhaps both at the same time.

The only thing he could do was clutching Harry’s shoulders as he picked up the pace, and, _fuck_, Eggsy really shouldn’t have slept on preparation because he could feel every muscle that would have loved a little more stretching, and the pressure was almost too much to bear.

He moaned when Harry began stroking his erection, and he might have heard him moaning too, somewhere at the borders of his consciousness. Lips kissed his cheeks, wandered to his ear, and he was trembling and couldn’t stop the motion. He didn’t know when he began rocking his hips forward, but it felt good, a sweet poison, and it didn’t matter that his mind was still screaming its muffled screams.

“I don’t want anyone else to see you like this,” Harry whispered into his ear, and a part of Eggsy wondered how his voice could be so firm, so clear still. It was enough to make him moan again, and he couldn’t really comprehend the content of the words, but perhaps it didn’t matter what Harry was saying as long as it was him saying it.

“You’re mine,” he murmured, and it sounded scarily serious, and Eggsy felt his heart plummet, and a part of him wanted to nod, and that was even more scary. But Harry kept thrusting into him grazing a certain spot that made him cry out loud, and it didn’t matter, not now.

When he came, it was like falling through a storm, through lightning and thunder, and it was a relief as much as it hurt. There was a cloud of blissful dizziness that hid his thoughts, and for a few moments he didn’t feel anything, inhaling, exhaling in shuddering gasps. Harry must have come too, surely, but he couldn’t say if it was before or after him, and he didn’t really care anyway.

He did notice Harry pulling away. Every last bit of tension left his muscles and he fell back, eyes fluttering shut, and his head met the wall, and how had they ended up on the other side of the bed? It didn’t matter. Harry kissed his forehead and it felt like being branded.

Eggsy was sitting with his back against the wall while Harry replaced the blanket, the flittering sound of the moving fabric a soft rhythm somewhere in the distance. He tried to catch his breath. He tried to live. (It wasn’t easy.)

He should go to the bathroom, shouldn’t he? But he couldn’t find the strength to do so. The strange urge to pull his knees to his chest, to hug himself, ran through him but he couldn’t even do that. He wouldn’t be going home tonight after all, would he?

It was only when Harry switched off the light that he found himself able to move, and he slid under the new blanket. It was just as soft as the last one had been but he could hardly feel it. The pillow almost swallowed his head. He wasn’t facing Harry but that didn’t mean that he didn’t know that he was there, on the other side of the bed, right next to him. _Like a lover_.

An arm reached over his body to curl around his waist and Eggsy could feel Harry’s cheek against his neck, hair tingling his skin, and it was warm, and oddly soothing, and incredibly damn _scary_.

“Y-you… won’t be leaving London, will you?,” Eggsy whispered into the silence, into the darkness of the night, and it was as if something were squeezing his heart, as if he were talking, breathing underwater.

Harry’s fingers drew gentle circles on his stomach. “Don’t worry,” he murmured, words vibrating through Eggsy’s body in small waves. “I’ll tell them another project needs my utmost and thorough attention.”

Eggsy let go of the breath he had held.

It hurt.

~


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

~

Eggsy slept two, maybe three hours, until something made his eyes shoot open, heart rushing as if he were running a marathon. It was no nightmare, or at least not one he could remember. Well, he couldn’t remember having dreamed at all but that wasn’t surprising, was it?

The room was as dark as when he had closed his eyes. There was no sign of an approaching morning, only Harry’s deep, calm breathing next to him, and why had he woken up anyway? Why did he feel as if something were lurking in the shadows, ready to jump at him, ready to pull him into an excruciating death? Why did his pulse quicken by the minute? Why was there no oxygen left in this room?

For a moment it was as if he weren’t awake at all, as if he could see the dim, unsteady lines of the furniture in this room but couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t _breathe_, dammit. For a moment he felt more dead than alive, or close enough to dying in any case, and why was that when there was nothing, _absolutely nothing_, deadly in this room?

Why was he close to panicking even though nothing had changed?

Harry shifted, hand falling back to rest on Eggsy’s hip bone, and there was a low sigh, and a small part of Eggsy was wondering if _he_ might be dreaming. What he might be dreaming about. It didn’t matter, though, because it broke that terrible paralysation, and Eggsy took hasty, shuddering breaths, still drowning a bit, and he couldn’t keep lying in this bed. He couldn’t.

His muscles protested as he propped himself up with trembling hands, and he winced but kept moving anyway until his feet touched the cool wooden floor. Harry didn’t wake up and _thank god for small graces_.

It was only then that Eggsy realised that he was still naked, and he squinted, gaze hurrying across the room. His heart skipped a beat when he noticed that Harry had piled his clothes upon a chair and he didn’t know what to think of that. What he did know was that he had never felt a greater gratitude for being able to put on a simple set of underpants, even as old as they were.

He couldn’t leave, a fact he knew even in his anxiety-induced state, but he didn’t need to stay _here_, did he? His stomach twisted and the ground wavered as he inched to the bordering bathroom. He would have loved to run but he needed to be quiet, needed to be careful. It wouldn’t do to wake Harry, right?

It was only after he had closed the door behind himself that he could take deep breaths again, that the tremble of his body faded somewhat. The lamp in the centre of the ceiling radiated a soft light not unlike the morning sun, and it was oddly soothing. He sighed, chuckled lightly, shakily, and it was weird, that feeling, wasn’t it?

He felt fine, ready to go back again, heart beating in a calm, collected way, and he should be fine, shouldn’t he? Everything _was_ fine, wasn’t it?

A second later his gaze caught the mirror, his own reflection staring at him with oddly dark, oddly lost eyes that lacked something he couldn’t name, and he didn’t know why, but he broke out in tears. He didn’t want to cry, why was he crying? Why did his eyes burn? Why was he sobbing, the sound loud and ugly and scary in the silence of the night?

Eggsy raised his hands to rub the wet trails off his face, but they reappeared faster than his motions could keep up with and his legs trembled. It was horrible and he didn’t know how to make it stop. He didn’t know what to do. _He just didn’t know what to do_.

He hated it.

_I really did it_, he thought, and the realisation sunk onto his shoulders like a coat of iron. _I had sex with Harry. Harry. Oh, fuck._

He pressed his eyes close, lashes wet with tears, face hot and red and ugly, and his hands held onto the sink for support because he _surely_ would have collapsed on the floor otherwise. He inhaled, exhaled, inhaled, and it was hard. It was hard.

He had known it would happen from the beginning, hadn’t he? He had wanted it to happen, hadn’t he? Why was he crying like a pathetic teenager that had realised that their first romance wouldn’t play out like a goddamn romcom?

He had slept with enough people in his life, had even had a one-night-stand or two, what was so different now?

_It has never been a guy before_, something whispered inside him. _It has never been Harry_.

And a part of him knew that it wasn’t right what was happening, what Harry was doing, and yet he couldn’t help but feel bad. He couldn’t help but feel guilty because it had been his choice, hadn’t it?

He had decided to stay with Harry and now he had to stick with it.

Eggsy didn’t know how much time passed until his breathing was steady enough, his eyes dry enough to return to the bedroom, to ignore the nausea pooling in his stomach, to lie down. He didn’t know why but he reached out to grab Harry’s hand, to interlace their fingers, and it made him feel better somehow.

This was his life now, wasn’t it?

He couldn’t say if it was a good or a bad thing.

~

When Eggsy woke up again, Harry wasn’t lying next to him anymore and a part of him was glad.

His skin was itching as if he had thrown himself into a dusty cave, and he _needed_ to shower, but he had no second set of clothes, and it was bad enough that he would have to wear one of Harry’s shirts. He couldn’t ask him for more, and he _definitely_ wouldn’t start wearing Harry’s clothes. He wouldn’t.

That was why he only used a washcloth to rub the sweat (and other things he didn’t want to think about) off his skin before splashing a bit of cold water on his face to hide the traces of his nightly meltdown. He put on his trousers, grabbed a deodorant that looked as if Harry hadn’t used it often, maybe not at all, and sprayed it all over his body. Everything was better than that lingering scent of heat and arousal.

It was weird to open Harry’s wardrobe without asking. He almost reached in blindly to take out a shirt but he wouldn’t walk around topless anymore. It had been long enough, much too long, thank you very much.

When he went looking for Harry (because what else should he do?), there was a feeling dancing through him that he couldn’t quite place. A sense of anticipation maybe, dread perhaps, resignation? He sighed as he walked out of the room.

What did he expect from the future?

What did Harry expect from him now?

Eggsy didn’t know it and he didn’t really care, he didn’t want to care. It couldn’t get any worse than this, could it?

_Worse…?_

He paused, frowned, shook his head. “I’m fine,” he muttered, and he wanted to shout it, too, because he was fine, very fine, and this wasn’t bad. There could be no getting worse when it hadn’t even been bad in the first place, could it? _And it hadn’t_.

When Eggsy found him in the living room, Harry was reading a book, a pretty version of _Pride and Prejudice_ with blue cover and golden letters. He put it down the second Eggsy entered the room, though, and looked up to him with lifted brows.

“You said I could have one of yours,” Eggsy murmured trying not to give in to the urge to cross his arms, trying not to show how damn well he knew that his face was reddening faster than a redhead’s skin in summer.

“You can. You can wear anything you want from me, it’s alright,” Harry said, a small smile on his lips. “I usually buy new ones every season anyway.”

He beckoned him to sit down and Eggsy wanted to smile but he couldn’t quite bring himself to do so. He averted his gaze observing the room with unseeing eyes as he wandered across it. He had been in this room often enough but he didn’t want Harry to notice his uneasiness, and why was that?

He let himself fall into the armchair across from the couch Harry was sitting on and he couldn’t quite look at him, and the realisation made him gulp. He prayed that Harry wouldn’t be able to tell that he had cried his eyes out mere hours before.

“You read Jane Austen?”, Eggsy said trying to get a grip on the conversation before Harry would be able to steer it into waters he didn’t want to be in.

Of course it didn’t work.

“Yes,” Harry stated before leaning forward slightly, and an outsider might have thought he was only straightening his back. Eggsy knew better. “But I wanted to talk to you about something else.”

“Yeah?” Eggsy lifted a brow and he did look at Harry now. He regretted it the moment he did, though. It made his heart jump and he couldn’t decide if the tingling in his stomach felt good or if it made him sick. Perhaps both.

“I thought you could move in here, what do you say? You wouldn’t need to stay in that desolate house, you wouldn’t need to pay rent, of course. It would be easier… for both of us.”

Harry’s gaze pinned him down and his heart was almost as heavy as his limbs. He bit his lips considering the words, frowning slightly even though he knew what answer he would give. Perhaps _because_ he knew what answer he would give. What answer was expected from him. What answer he _needed_ to give.

“Well, I…” Eggsy shrugged, rubbed his neck, raised a corner of his mouth to a painful half-grin. He couldn’t keep it up for long. “Why not?”

Harry smiled as he reached forward and his fingers were soft as feathers as they caressed Eggsy’s cheek. The air left his lungs in shaky breaths, but a part of him wanted to lean in and the warmth spreading through him was real enough.

“It makes me happy to be with you. I look forward to doing it more.”

Eggsy wasn’t so sure if he agreed.

He nodded anyway.

~

Harry gave him a spare key (and a part of Eggsy couldn’t help but wonder if it might not be a lucky coincidence that he even had one after all). He also helped him moving the most important things to his house. When Eggsy glanced at his own bed out of the corners of his eyes while pulling his clothes out of the wardrobe and throwing them into a bluish suitcase, it was painfully obvious that he wouldn’t be sleeping in it anymore.

He wanted to lie down, just to take a few deep breaths, to close his eyes for a minute, two perhaps, to save the memory in his mind, but it would have been kind of pathetic, wouldn’t it?

He shouldn’t make such a big deal out of it. (But it was easier said than done.)

That evening they decided to watch a film together. Or rather, Harry decided they should watch a film together and he presented Eggsy a couple of blue-rays to choose from. Eggsy couldn’t help but wonder if, maybe, Harry had noticed that emptiness that clang to his body like lead despite his attempts at hiding it after all because the films were all action comedies.

“I didn’t know you like animated films,” he murmured while glancing at _How to Train Your Dragon _and its colourful cover. It made him smile despite himself and that was probably why Harry had shown him the film in the first place, wasn’t it? To make him look at something nice and pretty and funny and innocent? To cheer him up?

For some reason that thought left a bad taste in his mouth and he almost let go of the film as if it were made of glowing stones.

“Some of the most enlightening and meaningful messages can be found in animated films, it’s only a question of whether you’re willing to look for them. I wouldn’t dare to judge a book by its cover, or a film in this case.”

Eggsy looked up to Harry, a grin dancing over his lips, and wouldn’t it be nice to just talk? Like before? “You know, I’ve mostly watched it for the dragons but you do have a point there. I probably wouldn’t have said it like that, though. Sounds a bit pretentious.”

“It’s only pretentious if you’re pretending to be someone you’re not. I do believe in what I’m saying and I know who I am, so I wouldn’t say I’m pretending in any way.” Harry raised a brow. “Now, which film do you want to watch?”

Eggsy blinked at him, the wish to continue their conversation rushing through him because it was interesting to listen, and maybe, just maybe, also because a part of him liked to hear his voice. However, the energy left him as quickly as a shooting star disappeared in the nightly sky and he felt even heavier than before.

He shrugged halfway before realising that it would take even more time to wait for Harry’s decision, that he definitely didn’t want Harry to notice this odd lethargy, and he took a deep breath and pointed at the first film that wasn’t _How to Train Your Dragon_.

It ended up being _Back to the Future_, and he had to admit that it wasn’t the worst thing to sit through. If he would have been able to focus enough to actually understand what the characters were saying he probably would have enjoyed it. The film was a classic after all.

As it was he hardly managed to keep his eyes open, and when he did, he wasn’t really seeing anything anyway. It was more like looking at a series of photos that were being deleted and erased from his memory right when he moved to the next ones.

He couldn’t hear the film but he heard other things well enough. He could hear J.B.’s panting breaths coming from the dog basket just a few metres next to the couch. He could hear the rain pattering against the windows, and when had it even begun to rain?

He could hear Harry’s heart, the soft, calm beating mere inches away from his own ear because his head was resting on Harry’s chest, and it was oddly soothing to focus on that sound, much better than focusing on the film.

Funny how such a tiny organ could keep you alive, wasn’t it? Funny how you could listen to the heartbeat of a human and know if that person was relaxed or fuelled with adrenaline or close to death. Funny how he couldn’t even hear his own heartbeat anymore (or maybe he just didn’t want to listen to it).

There were fingers at his shoulder blades drawing lazy circles over his skin, the motions too slow, too light to be more than a knocking at the gates of his consciousness, but it was calming, nevertheless. It felt nice. It felt nice to be touched by Harry like this.

It felt even nicer if he didn’t think about why he was here, if he didn’t think about his life and how it had changed in the last twenty-four hours, how it had changed even before. How he couldn’t turn back now, could he?

It was even nicer to focus on the warmth of Harry’s body, the gentleness of his touches, and the heartbeat next to his own, and when he closed his eyes, it wasn’t even a heartbeat anymore. It was the blustering rushing of the waves that were closing in on him, a blue-green mass without ending, the sea that was trying to swallow him, and perhaps it already had.

How long could you be drowning until you were dead?

~

The next Kingsman meeting took place about a week later, and a part of Eggsy wondered why he even bothered to go.

He didn’t have anything to tell and he would only sit and listen, wouldn’t he? Sit and listen and trying not to let the troubled parts of his mind take over his thoughts. Trying not to give in to that whirlwind of irrational fear that was always lurking at the borders of his consciousness.

He did go, however, and when he did, it was strangely different than he had imagined.

It was nice to hear about the missions of the other agents because he didn’t have to think about what was happening here, in London, to him. He could imagine himself to be there, at their sides, fuelled by the thrill of danger and adrenaline, helping people, saving cities. When had he stopped wanting to be an agent? Why had he never asked Harry to assign him a new mission?

Eggsy made a mental note to ask him, later, and his heart floated like a bird above the tops of oaks and birches. He smiled, and it felt real, genuine, and a part of him wondered when he had last smiled without pain.

Roxy was there, too. Spending most of his time with Harry, he had entirely forgotten about her, and how could that have happened? He was her friend, wasn’t he? Not a good one, it seemed.

She hadn’t forgotten about him, though.

“Do you have a few seconds?,” she asked him after the meeting was over, a bright smile on her rose-painted lips. “I’ve totally forgotten to give you back the screwdriver you’ve lent me when you helped me with my new kitchen. I think it’s in my car, and I’d _really _like to return it now.”

A hand closed around his wrist, and he winced, but it was Roxy, nice Roxy, his friend, and he let her pull him out of the room. She rolled her eyes, shrugged.

“Better late than never, huh?”

Eggsy lifted a brow, neck prickling as he tried to remember what Roxy was talking about. When he did, he frowned even more.

“Roxy, I gave you that screwdriver because you didn’t have one,” he murmured, and it was weird how he couldn’t quite keep up with her hasty steps. It was weird how a cloud seemed to hide her gaze, how her smile quivered, if only slightly. “You can keep it.”

“Oh? Yeah, I know.” She chuckled, and it sounded fake. “I bought one recently, it’s fine. I don’t need yours anymore. I…”

She paused, eyes only slightly narrowed as her gaze flew across the hallway, as she tilted her head to look back to the conference room, and something didn’t feel right, and-

This wasn’t the way that led to the parking lot, was it? They weren’t going to her car at all, were they?

Her smile disappeared as if burned away and his stomach dropped. The joint of his wrist clicked in an ugly way when Roxy tightened her grip, when she pulled him around the corner and shoved him into an empty room with such a speed that he almost tripped over the threshold.

“_Fuck_, Roxy, what are you doing?!,” he yelled rubbing his aching wrist, glaring at her. His vision shook as if he were on a boat in a storm-lashed sea, and there was nausea, too, as an idea began to form in his mind, a terrible idea, and that was only fitting, wasn’t it?

She closed the door behind herself, honey-coloured ponytail bobbing about, and her expression was firm and focused when she turned to look at him. There was no joy, no excitement, no playfulness, only a sparkle in her warm brown eyes that looked suspiciously like… worry. She was serious about this, wasn’t she? Whatever _this_ was.

He felt like throwing up.

“What are _you_ doing, Eggsy?,” she muttered, and she could have raised her voice, and why did it seem as if she didn’t _want_ to speak louder? Why did it seem as if she didn’t want to draw attention to them? To this talk?

Why did the ground still waver beneath his feet?

He swallowed hard, forced his face to be blank, forced his voice to be clear and strong. It wasn’t easy.

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”

Roxy stared at him. For a long while neither of them said anything, their breaths the only sound, and time might have stopped altogether. Then her mask cracked like a sheet of ice someone was throwing stones upon and her lips began to tremble.

“Don’t be like that, Eggsy. You’re not yourself,” she whispered, almost too low to understand. “You can talk to me, _please_, talk to me. What happened that made you lose that spark in your eyes?”

She approached him, slowly raising a hand as if she were about to pet a feral cat. His heart stopped, his breath stuttered, and he moved without thinking. He slapped her hand away, unblinking eyes blown so wide it hurt.

“I’m fine!”, he snapped, but it wasn’t really convincing, was it?

“You’re obviously not,” Roxy ground out pulling her hand back. She shook her head, and something in her eyes seemed to break. “I passed by your house yesterday. I considered visiting you, but you don’t live there anymore, do you?”

Eggsy didn’t reply, teeth clenched, muscles tense, and a part of him didn’t know if he would ever be able to open his mouth to speak again. _Go away!_, he wanted to shout. _I don’t need you! I don’t want to talk to you! Especially not about… this._

“Why haven’t you called me? Why did I have to find out you’re living with Harry through your former neighbours?”

“I… I don’t…” His mouth quivered, opened and closed, no words coming out. When he wet his lips, he tasted bile, but he forced himself to grin, nevertheless. “It isn’t that important, is it? It’s no big deal, Roxy! It’s easy, I can save money, might buy my mother that car she’s dreaming about…”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.”

“It’s not!” Eggsy shook his head, mind dizzy, and he felt like a child holding onto its immature decision because it didn’t know better. (He didn’t know better.)

“It’s him, isn’t it?”, Roxy whispered. Her voice cracked as if she were about to cry, and her gaze was swimming, and Eggsy felt even more lost, and the anger faded like paint in the rain. His heart fell to his stomach. She shouldn’t cry, there was no reason for her to cry, was there? Why… why…

“I…” She took a deep breath, and their eyes met. That was when Eggsy knew with the impact of a lightning that he wouldn’t like what she would be saying next. “I went to his house afterwards, you know. I wanted to see you, talk to you again.”

_Yesterday?_ His thoughts leaped at him as he tried to detangle his memories, tried to remember how he had spent the day, why he hadn’t been there when Roxy must have knocked against the door of the house, and that was weird because he _had_ been there, almost the whole day, and, ah, yes. He had left the house to buy groceries, meat for dinner, tea, peanut butter, but he had returned soon enough, hadn’t he? He had returned, and Harry had been waiting for him at the door, and-

_Fuck._

Every drop of blood must have vanished from his body because he couldn’t remember ever feeling that cold. A shiver ran down his spine, dread almost making him choke. _Fuck._

“You were kissing him,” Roxy said, and her voice was barely more than a whisper, but to him her words rang through the room like gun shots. Her eyes were wide, too, as if begging him to laugh, as if begging him to deny such a ridiculous accusation, such an atrocious lie.

He couldn’t do it, could he? He had to try.

“I…,” he began, but the sounds didn’t want to form in his throat, and his tongue was heavy, too heavy, and-

He couldn’t do it. (He wanted to cry.)

“Eggsy, I don’t care about you being gay or bisexual or whatever you identify with. You can love who you want to, and I support you, I promise you that,” she said. Her gaze was as soft as his mother’s had been when she had told him that his father wouldn’t return from work this time. That he wouldn’t ever return.

He blinked hastily, balled his hands to fists, because he didn’t want to cry, _he wouldn’t_, but it grew harder to withstand the urge by the minute.

“I _do_ care about you being happy, and I have never seen you less so. If… if Harry is doing anything… _anything _you don’t want him to do, please, _please_ tell me. Tell me, Eggsy.”

He looked at her, she looked at him, and he was falling, and perhaps he had done so for a long time. His mind was screaming, screaming as always, but he had made his choice, hadn’t he?

He was fine.

He was alright.

“I want it,” Eggsy said averting his gaze. His voice was almost as cold as he felt. It didn’t feel right to leave the room, to leave her standing there, staring at him, but he couldn’t remember what right felt like anyway.

~


	9. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This hurt to reread/edit :( (I'm sorry in advance)

**Chapter 8**

~

“You talked to her.”

Harry’s voice echoed through the conference room as soon as Eggsy entered it again and a part of him wanted to turn around right then. He couldn’t deal with this. He felt terrible, and no matter what he did, no matter what he tried, nothing seemed to work. It only got worse and worse, and he _hated_ it.

Eggsy didn’t look at Harry when he grabbed the glass of water standing on the table and drowned it with hasty movements. It gave him enough strength to blink the tears away that had been waiting in the corners of his eyes, and he took deep breaths, and, _fuck, _she knew. Roxy knew.

He had turned his back on his best friend, the only one left perhaps, and now she must hate him, mustn’t she? A wave of nausea made him shiver. He wouldn’t be able to live with that.

He threw a glance at the door, and maybe she hadn’t left yet, maybe he could still catch up with her and apologise. It would be the right thing to do, wouldn’t it?

Yeah, he would apologise and they would forget about this whole thing, and they wouldn’t talk about it ever again, and it would be fine. It would be fine.

Eggsy looked at Harry, mouth opening to tell him to wait while he ran after Roxy, but then he paused. The smile that had been tugging at his lips trembled, faded away, and why was Harry staring at him like _that_?

There was something in his gaze that made the hair in Eggsy’s neck stand up, that made his flesh crawl and his stomach turn, and he was terribly reminded of _that_ night. It was weird how his mind noticed that they were alone in this room, how his mind urged him to scan it as if to look for an escape, how he tensed up despite himself.

“What’s the problem?” Eggsy frowned, and perhaps his nerves were still irritated by his conversation with Roxy because he definitely shouldn’t have said that.

“The problem?” Harry sounded as if the answer to the question should have been the most obvious in the whole world, voice charged with suppressed anger, and that wasn’t good. It wasn’t good at all. Eggsy’s heart fluttered when Harry began to walk towards him with firm, confident steps, steps that rang with an unwavering intention, as if he had a destination he needed to reach. A destination he _would_ reach, no matter what.

Eggsy couldn’t help but take a few steps backwards, and he would have loved to take a few more if his back hadn’t hit the wall. _Damnit._

His gaze flew to the door, mere metres next to him, but he didn’t have time to even consider dashing out of the room. A hand grasped his chin, a grip of iron as if about to shatter the bones of his jaw, and he could feel bruises form already, and he winced, and why the fuck was Harry doing this?

Every thought vanished when Harry captured his lips with such a brute force that it pressed the breath out of his lungs, that his teeth met in an ugly clash, that his lips burned as if set on fire. His head would have collided with the wall, surely, would have painted it bloody red, if Harry hadn’t pulled him close, and it _fucking_ hurt. A tear slipped out of his eye, lids fluttering, and it was solely because of the sparks of pain that ran through his body like electricity.

It couldn’t feel good, and that thought made him realise that it shouldn’t feel good, that Harry didn’t _want_ it to feel good. It made him want to throw up, and he couldn’t breathe, and his heart beat so fast that it was an continuous, ugly melody in his ears.

He wanted to both sigh and sob when Harry pulled away after what seemed like an eternity but he was busy gasping for air, trying to draw enough breath to live, and that was fucking hard at the moment. He almost didn’t hear the next words.

“The problem, _darling_, is…,” Harry muttered, and he was leaning in, lips brushing against Eggsy’s earlobe in a way that made him shiver, mind both dizzy and hyper-aware of what was happening. Harry’s grip around his chin loosened, and Eggsy wanted to sigh, wanted to rub the aching spots where the fingertips had dug into his skin.

The pain seemed to dull, though, in comparison to the ice rushing through his veins when he noticed that Harry hadn’t stopped touching him at all, that his hands had wandered down to-

_Fuck_. There was a soft click, and it was as if a claw were squeezing his lungs, and he was frozen, mind as empty as a desert, and that gave Harry enough time to open his belt completely.

“_You talked to her_.”

Eggsy hadn’t known that so few words could quiver with that much resentment, hate even, and it made him want to flee and curl up under a blanket even though it wasn’t even directed at him. It might as well could be, though. He was alone with Harry, wasn’t he?

“You left without saying anything. No note. No words. Nothing.” Harry must have noticed the slip of his voice, because it was calmer now, no breaking, rushing syllables, no anger, just an odd raspy pain shining through, and that was even more scary. “I can’t let you do that, Eggsy.”

It sounded like an apology, except that it wasn’t one because he wasn’t saying _I’m sorry_, and he hadn’t ever really apologised for _those things_, had he? The most terrible thing, however, was that it sounded like an apology for something yet to happen.

“Roxy’s my _friend_, Harry!”, Eggsy yelled, and his voice didn’t sound like him. It sounded as if he were standing on the rim of a volcano looking into the ascending lava, as if he were only waiting for the flames to swallow him. As if he were crying for help despite knowing that none would arrive. He had to try anyway.

“You can’t expect me to stop talking-“ The hand slipping through both his trousers and pants to cup his butt made the words wither in his throat, mouth running dry.

The trousers sank down even more, dangerously so, barely grazing his stomach now, and Harry’s hand was pressing against his naked skin like hot iron, squeezing with more strength than necessary, and Eggsy might have groaned slightly. He closed his eyes for a second, and when had his blood began to heat up again? When had the air become too dense, too hot to breathe?

“I can,” Harry murmured, and he pressed his lips to the sensitive spot right below Eggsy’s ear, teeth grazing his skin, sucking, biting gently, and Eggsy shivered, body tingling all over. “I will.”

When Harry pulled down his clothes in a fluent motion, Eggsy was too stunned to react, and he shouldn’t have been _that_ surprised, but it had been too nice a thing to cling to hope, however small it might have been. His stomach twisted, and he flinched, and he wanted to back off, but the wall was there, stopping him, enclosing him, and Harry couldn’t be serious, could he?

The fabric piling around his ankles felt like weights. It was almost worse than being completely naked, because the remaining layers of clothes were too hot, felt too small, suffocated him a bit more with every breath. (He couldn’t breathe anyway.)

“D-don’t…” Eggsy tried to raise his hands to push Harry away, and they were heavy as if a part of him didn’t want to push him away after all. It didn’t matter anyway because Harry was too close, and Eggsy didn’t have enough space, didn’t have enough strength. He grimaced, tears burning in the corners of his eyes, and why couldn’t Harry just listen to him for once? “We can’t do this, not here, not now, _please_, Harry, p-please…”

Harry thrust in two fingers without any prior warning, and Eggsy gasped out loud, knees buckling, and he would have fallen down if it hadn’t been for Harry and the wall behind him. _Fuck_. Where was the lifeline he was desperately reaching for?

His hands grasped the first thing they touched, the sleeves of Harry’s suit, and he didn’t want to hold onto him, but there was no other way, was there? He wanted to sob, and he didn’t know if it was because of the pain that came with being fingered without any lube whatsoever, or because of the heat gathering in his abdomen.

“_Fuck_, Harry,” he groaned. He could feel Harry’s fingers pressing into his walls as they moved around, and the tension didn’t want to leave, and it was too much, way too much. His body urged forward trying to escape the feeling, but it only brought him closer to Harry, gave him better access, and his half-hardened cock twitched when it rubbed against the fabric of Harry’s trousers. It was horrible.

“A-at least… use freaking lube,” Eggsy ground out, face burning, but the desperation twirling through his mind like a hurricane was stronger than any spark of shame.

“I’m sorry, my love,” Harry said, and he didn’t sound sorry at all, and Eggsy felt a tear running down his cheek mingling with the drops of sweat all over his body. “It isn’t a lesson learned if you don’t remember it, don’t you agree?”

Eggsy wanted to glare at him, but he couldn’t even keep his eyes open, couldn’t even gather enough strength to fight, and… he deserved it, didn’t he? _It has been my choice_, he thought, and a wave of nausea made him choke. _My decision. I’m the only one to blame_.

He didn’t even notice when Harry opened his own belt, but he must have done so. Because he pulled away his fingers, and Eggsy couldn’t even take one deep breath before Harry’s hands closed around his thighs lifting him up, tilting his body slightly, and his head met the wall with an ugly clang. He couldn’t even try to say a word of protest, because Harry was shoving his cock into him, and his muscles clenched around him, and it was too much, and _it hurt like hell_.

It pressed the air out of his lungs and he couldn’t help but sob even though he didn’t how he was able to make even the smallest noise when he felt more like dying by the minute.

Something seemed to break inside him, and tears were streaming down his face in a cold, ugly flow, and he could only shut his eyes, could only hold onto Harry with trembling hands and grimace through the pain.

_I hate you_, Eggsy thought sniffling, whimpering, and his heart seemed to shiver, seemed to shatter. _I love you and I can’t lose you. But I hate you so much, Harry Hart._

Harry kissed him when he came, and it was a soft kiss, gentle, almost apologising, a kiss like roses, and it must have been wet of tears, but he didn’t seem to care. It only made Eggsy cry more.

He did feel relief when Harry wasn’t buried in him anymore, when his legs weren’t forced into such an uncomfortable position anymore, but he could hardly feel it over the agonising surge of pain drifting through his chest and lower body at every breath, and it was as if somebody were cutting into his skin with a dull blade. It was horrible.

He was still sobbing violently when Harry pulled him against his chest, and the tension left his body, hands falling down as if somebody had cut the threads holding them.

“_Sh_, darling, Eggsy, my beautiful boy,” a soft kiss on his head, a hand running in gentle circles over his back, and he pressed his face closer to Harry’s neck breathing in his much too familiar scent, trying to make himself calm down. Trying to forget. “It’s alright. You see why it was necessary, don’t you? I just want what’s best for you, and she isn’t part of that. You have to be careful.”

A kiss to his temple, and this time the lips seemed to linger, hovering just a bit, moving closer to his ear. The whisper made his skin tingle.

“But you will be careful now, won’t you?”

Eggsy clenched his teeth and nodded.

~

It was only when they were eating dinner that evening, the roast goose tasting like cardboard, that Eggsy remembered what he had wanted to talk to Harry about.

He put down the fork, and it was a nice excuse not to keep eating because he wasn’t hungry anyway, was he? Harry wasn’t looking at him but his gaze lifted as soon as Eggsy began to speak.

“I want to go on missions again.”

Harry paused, brows knitting slightly, and a shadow rushed through his face, twisted his expression for a second, and Eggsy tensed up despite himself. Harry opened his mouth but there was a second of hesitation, a second of quivering lips, a small sigh, and that was enough to know.

“There aren’t any new missions at the moment,” he said before reaching for his glass of wine to take a small sip. “I can’t tell if there’ll be any in the near future. I’m sorry, Eggsy.”

Enough to know that he wasn’t telling the truth.

“You’re lying, aren’t you?” Eggsy ground out, words like poison on his lips, and he kept drinking it, didn’t he?

He couldn’t even bring himself to be angry, to be shocked. He was tired, he was so damn tired it hurt, and he just didn’t know what to do. There was nothing he _could_ do, was there?

“Why are you _always_ lying to me? Stop fucking lying to me!”, he snarled, eyes blazing, and perhaps he was angry after all. There was a flame of irritation, of frustration, burning his insides but it was better than that cold, paralysing feeling of helplessness, of resignation, wasn’t it?

“Just tell me I’m not allowed to go on missions! Order me around like you always do, you like that, don’t you? It’s always about you, _fucking always_, Harry, and I _hate_ it. I hate it so much, but you don’t even care about my feelings, do you?!”

He didn’t want to stand up and he hardly felt his legs moving as he did but the clang of the chair hitting the ground echoed through the room like gun shots. His vocal chords burned and his body trembled like a taut rope threatening to tear apart, and how was he still breathing? Still living?

“Sit down, Eggsy. You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Harry didn’t sound affected at all, only slightly irritated as if disappointed that something had interrupted this oh so nice dinner, and it only made Eggsy’s blood boil even more. He knew better, though, because there was a flicker of something else in Harry’s gaze, a tension that made his face firm and cold because he tried to hide something, tried to hide that… he was uneasy, scared even, wasn’t he?

Eggsy didn’t want to sit down and he didn’t do it.

“If that’s the only apology you’re ready to give, don’t say anything at all, just, _just_ shut your fucking mouth.” He clenched his hands to fists, pressed his eyes close and tried not to cry because he had cried too much already, and how could it be that there were still tears left in his body?

Harry rose, too, he must have, because there were steps coming closer, and he didn’t want Harry to even breathe into his direction, but he also couldn’t bring himself to move.

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” Harry whispered, voice stifled as if it took a lot of effort to say this simple sentence. There was real pain now, clouding the words like rain the formerly blue sky, and Eggsy was _glad_, glad that he wasn’t the only one in pain, and yet he couldn’t be less happy.

“I’m supposed to be a Kingsman agent, Harry,” he murmured, and it was so damn ironic, wasn’t it, and Harry wouldn’t listen to him anyway, would he? He grimaced, shook his head in a jerky motion, as if trying to shake the pain away. It didn’t work.

“It’s part of the job, everyone gets hurt sometimes. That’s what happens when you live!”

Harry didn’t listen. He never did. It was always the same, wasn’t it?

“Your arm hasn’t even healed yet, I… can’t take the risk. I can’t let you either.” There was a hand at his cheek trying to cup it, trying to caress the skin, but Eggsy recoiled, legs shaking, lids fluttering open, and Harry pulled it back. “I’m sorry. You don’t know how sorry I am, Eggsy.”

“If you were really sorry, if you were really _loving _me… you would let me go.”

He turned around walking to the bedroom, _their_ bedroom, and he didn’t even know what it was like not to hurt. A part of him wondered if, maybe, when he had said those last words, he hadn’t been talking about the missions at all.

When Harry joined him in the bed later, Eggsy pretended to sleep, and he knew that Harry was able to look right through his mask. However, he didn’t try to pull him closer, didn’t try to embrace him. He didn’t even touch him and Eggsy was grateful for that.

It was a long night.

~


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

~

It was the day of yet another Kingsman meeting he would attend without doing anything and this time Eggsy really didn’t care.

He _mustn’t_ let himself care. It hurt just thinking about it because Harry wouldn’t let him go on missions, he wouldn’t let him talk to Roxy, and Eggsy felt like crossing a bridge that was slowly losing its bricks until he very ground he was standing on would break apart.

Sometimes he asked himself what he was doing with his life, what was holding him here, why he even cared.

It was weird how he found himself looking forward to kissing Harry now, to touching him, to being touched by him, because that meant he could feel something. Even though it never felt entirely good, it was better than this emptiness, this freezing coldness that slipped into his bones and made him feel as if he were only a ghost wandering on earth’s grounds without being seen.

Harry made him feel alive and, often, that was enough.

Eggsy hadn’t thought it could get any worse but perhaps it could. He made himself dress for the meeting because he needed to see other people, needed to see Roxy, even if he couldn’t talk to her. He went through the house looking for Harry, so they could go together but he didn’t find him and that should have made him think.

When he decided that he couldn’t wait any longer, that he would need to go now if he didn’t want to be late, he realised why he hadn’t found Harry, why he hadn’t seen him since the early morning.

The front door was locked.

Harry had locked the door.

Funny how it could get worse even after you hit rock bottom.

Eggsy could feel his face paling, hands trembling as he tried to push the handle again (and again and again and again). It didn’t work. Of course it didn’t work.

Of course he couldn’t find the spare key that Harry had given him although it should have been in the pocket of his jacket.

Of course he couldn’t open the door to the balcony either.

_Of course._

Eggsy wanted to laugh but he couldn’t. His breath went in hasty gasps after running around the whole house like a fucking idiot and he grabbed the flower vase with its ugly red roses and the porcelain felt cool, solid as his fingers clenched around it. He couldn’t even hear the impact as it hit the wall over how loud his thoughts were screaming, but he saw it, red shards mingling with red petals. For a split-second it looked as if the wall were bleeding.

Eggsy was bleeding, too. His skin might be unscathed, but his heart, his mind, his soul hadn’t felt intact for a long time.

He sighed, and tears threw a cloudy veil over his vision but he closed his eyes and imagined not to be crying, imagined not to be hurting. He let himself fall down, right next to the couch, back pressed against it. He curled up, pulled his knees to his chest, and, for once, didn’t think at all as the tears rolled down his cheeks and to the floor like pearls of ice.

He didn’t know how much time went by until he could hear steps. He thought of Harry first and couldn’t bring himself to move. But, _no_, those steps were slow, hesitant, steps of someone who knew that they shouldn’t be here. They couldn’t be the steps of the houseowner and that made Eggsy’s eyes shoot open right when a voice rang through the room.

“Eggsy?!”

“…R-roxy?”

She looked at him with wide, round eyes, and Eggsy’s eyes must have been just as wide because he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. She couldn’t be here, could she? She was at the meeting, with Harry and all those other agents, she _must_ be, but, well, he didn’t really care.

He pushed himself off the floor, legs shaking slightly as he ran towards her, as he threw his arms around her small frame. He hadn’t known that hallucinations could be that solid, could be that warm. It almost made him believe that she was human after all.

But If she was human…

What was she doing here?

He stepped back, and she was still looking at him like before, that clouded gaze, that slightly gaping mouth, those trembling eyelashes as if she wanted to cry, and his cheeks heated up. He couldn’t look _that _terrible, could he?

He tried to rub the last wet trails off his cheek as discreetly as possible, tried to smile at her, and wasn’t it oddly cold in this room all of a sudden? He shivered, swallowed hard with dry, chapped lips.

“Eh, shouldn’t…” He cleared his throat, and his voice was still quivering but it had lost its croaky whisper at least. “Shouldn’t you be at the meeting?”

He took a deep breath as he became all too aware of the fact that she was real, that it was no hallucination. His skin began to prickle and he had to avert his gaze. What must she be thinking of him? Crying on the floor like a little boy. How embarrassing.

His words seemed to pull Roxy out of her stupor, and she shook her head slightly, gaze clear as she looked at him with warm determination.

It was different than Harry, a part of him noted. It always seemed as if something were hidden in Harry’s gaze, it was like staring into a dark lake that went deeper than the eye could reach. There was often love and desire nowadays, if you knew where to look, and he knew those gazes now almost as well as his own reflection but he had never known how to deal with that. Now maybe less than ever.

Roxy wasn’t looking at him like that. There was warmth and compassion, and no conditions, and he hadn’t been aware of how much he had missed those gazes until now. Because Harry had been like that, too, in the beginning, and Eggsy so very much wished to return to that time.

“Shouldn’t _you_ be at the meeting?” Roxy raised a brow, voice oddly strained, but Eggsy tried not to notice the quivering words.

He wanted to reply and he even opened his mouth, but then he remembered that he had no idea what to say. _I wanted to go but Harry locked me into this house and I wasn’t really strong enough to try to escape?_ Yeah, would let him look like a real hero.

That was why he shrugged and crossed his arms. It was still so damn cold and why was it always so cold in this house? He couldn’t remember it to have been this cold when he had been here for the first time.

Roxy didn’t say anything for a few seconds, perhaps because she was waiting for _him_ to say something. Apparently noticing his struggle, she sighed and continued.

“I’m on a mission.” She smiled at him and it didn’t quite seem genuine. “I’m in the Indian jungle protecting a married couple of Welsh scientists who are looking for a new species of poison frogs that might be able to help curing Alzheimer’s. Harry doesn’t expect me to appear at the next, _well_, three, four meetings at least. He was the one suggesting it to me, you know?”

Eggsy frowned. For a second he forgot all those worries and problems that were circling his mind in a never-ending dance.

“Central London hardly looks like the Indian jungle to me.”

“That’s probably because it isn’t.”

She sighed again. The playful sparkle vanished leaving her gaze oddly sad and empty. Eggsy felt his heart leaping to his throat. “I couldn’t leave you, especially not now. I know Harry wants me as far away from you as possible, he couldn’t have been more obvious about it.”

Roxy rolled her eyes. There was an urge rushing through Eggsy that made him knit his brows, that made him open his mouth, and why did he want to deny her statement about Harry even though he knew all too well that she was telling the truth?

She didn’t even let him utter one syllable and it was probably better that way.

“_Please_, don’t protect him, Eggsy,” she said, pleaded, begged, even raising her hands slightly. Her voice was stifled, trembling as if the words were burning in her throat like poison. “He doesn’t deserve protection, especially not yours. You, _oh god_…”

She shivered, pressed her eyes close as if a memory were conquering her mind, a horrible, horrifying memory, and she had to fight it back to reach reality again. When she looked at him, her face was a few shades paler.

“I don’t even know how to begin but… you have to go, as soon as possible. You have to be careful. You can’t stay here, with him, for much longer. He’s dangerous, he…”

She groaned slightly, as if in pain, and her lips quivered but no sound rang through the air. It was as if she didn’t want to say the words waiting in her throat, as if it were torture having to say them. As if the only thing worse than saying them were not to say them.

“W-what are you talking about?” Eggsy looked at her with wide eyes, eyes that hurt from too much crying in too little time, eyes that must be more red than white, and he should have said _no_, _Harry isn’t dangerous_, he should have said _no, I love being here, it’s fine_.

He just couldn’t bring himself to do so.

A part of him was scared of her response because she knew about the kisses, and what if she knew about other things too? What if he would have to explain himself even though he couldn’t even explain his feelings to himself?

What was she thinking of him anyway?

She must think that he loved Harry, that they were a couple, and Harry would like that, wouldn’t he?

Eggsy couldn’t say if he himself did, if it was the truth, but there was a pang in his chest and bile at the back of his throat as pictures of the last weeks passed through his mind. They were already behaving like a couple, weren’t they?

How had it come to this?

Though, when Roxy continued it wasn’t about his relationship with Harry. It was worse.

“I’m so sorry, Eggsy,” she murmured. He felt even colder now, mind dizzy, because what could she possibly be sorry for?

And what if she wasn’t actually sorry, but felt sorry for _him_?

“You’ve changed so much since he’s back, and I… I needed to do some research. You didn’t want to listen to me, and it just didn’t feel right how he was looking at you, how he’s _still_ looking at you, and… it made me think. I had this crazy idea that if I looked into what he’s been doing since being healed I might be able to discover something that would make you listen to me.”

She took another deep breath, corners of her lips sunk down slightly, eyes so terrifyingly warm and sad. Eggsy knew with an intensity that made him shiver that he did _not_ want to hear her words, and he had to resist the urge to press his hands against his ears. He had to listen and it was torture.

“I have good reasons to believe that h-he… that it was no car accident. Harry murdered Tilde, Eggsy.”

_Murder_…?

That word didn’t appear real to him, it couldn’t be, could it? There were letters, but no connection, no context. He couldn’t even say what it meant and perhaps that was because of the freezing wind blowing every thought out of his mind, leaving him paralysed and confused. And cold, so very cold.

He gulped. It had never been that hard.

“W-what…what…” He pressed his eyes close and there was darkness. “What kind of r-reasons?”

“It’s hard to believe, I know. I also couldn’t believe it at first but it fits,” Roxy said, and why did her words cut into his flesh like swords? “It’s going to be alright, Eggsy.”

“What reasons, Roxy?!”, Eggsy snapped, eyelids fluttering open.

“Ah, y-yes… but we don’t have much time. Let me think,” she murmured frowning. “I couldn’t find anything suspicious in the beginning, but then I called Statesman and they told me something interesting. I clearly remember when I first saw Harry at the Headquarters again… it was the day after her funeral, Eggsy.”

She wet her lips, pausing again, and it slowly dawned on him that, perhaps, she didn’t pause because it was so hard to talk about the topic, or at least not entirely because of that. She paused because she didn’t want to overwhelm _him_, because she didn’t want to add to his pain, because she thought she needed to be careful, slow, as if he were a frightened cat. _He wasn’t_.

“Harry told us that he arrived the day before but that agent from Statesman told me he had left them earlier, three days earlier to be precise. Not a big difference, you might think, but the date they told me did strike me as… odd. It took me some time to realise why, though. It was because I’ve read it in the newspapers, I’ve heard it from _you_, it felt familiar because it _was_ familiar. It…”

Her eyes narrowed, a spark of anger in her eyes.

“Harry returns to London and Tilde dies. It’s the same day, I’ve checked it over and over again. Don’t you think that’s a bit suspicious? Why should Harry lie if not to hide something?”

“It… could be a coincidence, a mistake. Mistakes happen, Roxy,” Eggsy said, and it was easy to cling to that explanation, way too easy, because _that _theory was so terrible he couldn’t even let his mind consider it. He refused to. It was crazy, a fever dream, not even slightly possible. And perhaps he only thought so because he wouldn’t be able to live with it, and it was easier that way. So horribly easy.

“Do you even listen to yourself?!” He shook his head, snorted, and it was an ugly, sad sound. “Harry Hart, the man that helped me when I was at my lowest point in life, that _saved _me, my mother, my sister. _That_ Harry, a… murderer? Don’t be ridiculous! He wouldn’t… h-he…”

He wet his lips, the words dying in his throat. Ice trickled through his veins as a memory flashed through his mind, he himself lying on the ground, arm bloody, Harry not only looking at the man responsible for that cut but staring at him with a deadly sparkle, knife between his fingers in a steady grip, and he had been pressing down on the man’s lungs, pressing down, suffocating him. Trying to kill

“It’s not the only thing,” Roxy continued, and a part of him was glad that she had pulled him out of that devastating torrent of thoughts. “I saw the pictures of the autopsy, I read the report. They don’t match. Her body was badly burned but you could still make out those marks at her neck, and I talked to that young assistant who told me she most definitely died before that car accident. Someone must have suffocated her, probably a man, someone strong enough to keep her from escaping, someone smart enough not to let her body rot in the streets.

“Nothing had been stolen, she still wore her golden earrings, and she hadn’t b-been… hadn’t been raped, and why would anyone kill a young, beautiful girl and would go through all the trouble of disposing the body without taking anything?

“Unless that someone had a personal agenda. Unless that someone had a reason to kill her that had nothing to do with her being rich or a princess or a pretty girl.

“The assistant also told me the autopsy had been shorter than usual and they got a rather large sum of money from an anonymous donator. Strange, isn’t it?”

Eggsy could only stare at her, stare and wish she were lying even though he knew from the earnest look in her eyes that she had never been more serious. He couldn’t feel his tongue when he spoke.

“I believe you that T-ti… she didn’t die in an accident, alright. But it doesn’t have to be Harry who… k-killed her, there are so many people in this world, maybe someone wanted to hold her hostage for a ransom and got scared, I dunno, there’re so many possibilities, _so many_… just because the dates are similar? I c-can’t…” He shook his head and his eyes burned but he couldn’t close them. He couldn’t really breathe, too, but he had to keep going, didn’t he? “Why would Harry even consider… doing such a thing?”

_Murder_.

A part of him knew what Roxy would say even though his vision was too clouded, too blurry to read her expression. Hs stomach churned and his heart might have burst into a thousand piercing shards.

“Oh, Eggsy,” she whispered and he could hardly understand her over the sound of his own hasty, trembling breaths. “Isn’t it obvious? He wanted to have you and she, your girlfriend, was standing in his way. He needed to get rid of her.”

She could have said _you killed her_ just as well.

Eggsy shook his head and he couldn’t stop the motion even though it hurt his neck. Though, his whole body was hurting anyway and it didn’t matter, did it?

“I can’t believe it,” he grounded out, a shiver running down his spine, and every word burned his tongue. Where was air? Where was oxygen? How could he possibly hope to breathe? “I can’t, Roxy, _I can’t_. There must be another explanation, there must be, there is, I’m sure of that. Harry wouldn’t… wouldn’t… wouldn’t…”

Hurt him like that? He would. He had, much too often.

“It’s alright, Eggsy, I don’t expect you to believe me completely. I only need you to believe me enough to trust me… so we’ll discover the truth together.”

There were hands grazing his own, fingers interlacing with his, and her skin was warm. It was nice of her to hold his hands, to just hold them, no pressure, no force, and he could inhale, could exhale, could climb down that wavering ladder of panic.

He looked at her, clenched his jaw and nodded.

“I’ll give you this,” Roxy held a delicate silver ring into the light. “It’s able to differentiate between fifty different voices talking at the same time, could catch the sound of a needle falling to the floor and can record up to 168 hours of material. I’ll leave in a few minutes to talk to Merlin and perhaps the other agents about this, and you… you have to be careful, so damn careful, but if there’s the possibility… try to get Harry to confess.”

The thoughts were twirling through his mind like leaves in a storm. He didn’t even know what to feel anymore but there was a rush of adrenaline, sweet and familiar, and he couldn’t help but get swept away by her determination that made the air pulsate with anticipation. He might have felt alive for a moment.

“I’ll t-try.” He lifted a hand turning it slightly to let Roxy press the ring into his palm. Bile was creeping up his throat, but he _could do this_, it would be easy, and why was he so damn scared when he knew that Harry couldn’t have killed Tilde? He took a deep breath.

“W-what if… what if Harry’s innocent?”

She looked him straight into his eyes and her gaze captured him with its shivering warmth, with its deep, deep agony. For a second he was scared to look back, scared that she might be able to read his eyes, that she might be able to look into his soul and gaze upon all his darkest memories and moments. For a second his heart stopped, and he couldn’t breathe, and he did _not _want to hear her words.

“Even if he didn’t kill her, and I believe he did,” she said, much too firm, much too convinced. “He isn’t innocent, Eggsy.”

Seeing her smile had never hurt more.

“Be careful, yeah? Here, that might help you.”

And she let something else fall into his hands, its black metal glimmering like the wings of a leather beetle.

A gun.

~

It was weird how Eggsy had almost felt fine, how the whirlwind of his mind had calmed down for those few precious minutes just to flicker to life again as soon as Roxy had disappeared through the window she had climbed in.

The small gun lay heavy in his hands, heavy enough to make him wonder if he would even be able to lift it. He didn’t want to look at it, and the skin grazing the metal prickled as if the surface were coated with acid.

That was why he took off the suit to wear more casual clothes, jeans with back pockets big enough to swallow the weapon entirely and it almost made him forget that it was even there. He wouldn’t need it anyway, would he? He didn’t _want_ to need it.

It was dangerous not to have anything to do, not to have anyone to talk to. The silence made his heart beat faster and faster until he began to think that the cause of his death might as well be a heart attack. The silence made his head spin, it made burning nausea spread through his body like fire, and he _needed_ to do something. He couldn’t be waiting, couldn’t be thinking, couldn’t be considering this terrible, terrible theory of Roxy.

Eggsy didn’t want to see Harry but at the same time he needed to know the truth, needed to know that Harry hadn’t killed Tilde. The thought alone made him shudder, made him choke back tears.

He took his time to pick up the red shards of porcelain, to mop up the water, to throw away the roses, colour still vibrant, most of the petals torn off, and his heart became oddly heavy at seeing them. Harry had bought them for him yesterday. It had been nice enough to look at them and they would have survived a few more days, _surely_, if Eggsy hadn’t destroyed them, right?

It felt as if an eternity had passed since he had thrown the vase at the wall even though it couldn’t have been more than an hour ago.

It was while he was rubbing the last traces of the incident off the wooden floor with a dry cloth that he heard the click of a key being turned, the creaking of an opening door.

His heart dropped just to jump to his throat and flutter somewhere between his rips. He didn’t remember moving to rise but a second later he was standing, staring at the door of the living room where Harry could be appearing any second now, the ring on the little finger of his left hand almost as heavy as the gun in his pocket.

_I can’t do this_, shot through his mind, eyes blown wide. Harry would look at him and he would see and he would know. He would know what had happened, he would know that Eggsy had talked to Roxy and he wouldn’t like it at all.

Eggsy was all too aware of the tremble spreading over his skin until it had captured each and every limb of his body. He couldn’t hope to fool Harry, he couldn’t ask him about Tilde, he didn’t even know how to breathe steadily. _He couldn’t do this_.

But he had to. He had to be sure, he had to know, and Roxy trusted him, she believed that he could do it, and perhaps that was enough. He had faced way greater dangers and risks in the past, hadn’t he?

(But nothing so personal, nothing so horrifyingly engrained in his very soul.)

He took a deep breath and began to walk towards the front door, because it was better than waiting. He could do this, he needed to do this. It would be fine.

“Harry,” he said forcing a small smile on his face, and it wasn’t much but it was the best he could muster. “I’m glad you’re back. I was getting really bored, you know. I almost touched your collection of novels by Charles Dickens, and I hated _Great Expectations_ in high school.”

Eggsy rolled his eyes, snorted lightly. He saw how Harry paused, how he contracted his brows slightly as if he didn’t quite know what to say. The silence was tense, it made the air waver, and his breath was stuck in his throat until Harry walked up to him raising his voice.

“Well, to be honest, I’ve never got through _Great Expectations_ myself.”

When Harry kissed him, a warm hand gently cupping his cheek, he couldn’t help but close his eyes, couldn’t help but press himself against him, if only slightly. His heart leaped, and for a second it might have beaten in Harry’s chest just as well.

The hand on his cheek trailed over his jawline and down his neck to rest on his shoulder, and a picture flashed through his mind. An arm around his neck, pressing down, suffocating him, darkness, terrible, lonely darkness, and he shivered, couldn’t breathe, and _thank god_ Harry pulled away in that moment. He might have died otherwise.

“You’re not upset?” Harry lifted a brow, and Eggsy needed a few seconds to realise what he was talking about.

He rubbed his neck. A part of him remembered that moment of panic when he had noticed the locked door and he wanted to glare at Harry, wanted to scream at him, because how did he dare to ask such a dumb question? Who wanted to be fucking locked away like a pet that wasn’t allowed to leave the house?

He couldn’t think about that now, though, because it wasn’t important, not in comparison to _that _theory, not in comparison to the ring at his finger and the gun in his pocket. He swallowed hard shaking his head.

“You’re only protecting me, aren’t you?” Eggsy shrugged and the words tasted like rotten bread on his tongue. “I didn’t want to go to the meeting anyway.”

His words made Harry smile and he looked so very handsome, so very happy, his gaze so very full of love, genuine, warm love, that Eggsy felt dizzy just looking at him. For a moment he could believe that Harry did love him. For a moment he wished with every fibre of his body that he were able to return it.

Then he remembered Roxy and her determination and the sad look on her face when she had told him about the strange circumstances of Tilde’s death. _He isn’t innocent, Eggsy_, whispered his mind, quiet like the sighing wind outside, and his heart twisted.

Harry took his hand and their fingers interlaced almost by themselves. It reminded him of Roxy, again, because she had held his hand too. And Eggsy had cried, he had cried so much because of Harry.

“Would you like to go out for dinner? We could see a film afterwards, there’s one about the Second World War that seems interesting. Or perhaps you would rather go to a concert? I once did the former manager of the O2 Arena a favour and he always takes great delight in handing me a spare ticket or two,” Harry said, his thumb caressing the back of Eggsy’s hand absentmindedly. “What do you prefer?”

A part of Eggsy would have loved to go to the cinema or a concert with Harry, and Harry had never failed to introduce him to restaurants with both wonderful dishes and nice atmospheres. Though, he couldn’t do it, could he?

There was something else he needed to do.

But how on earth could he even approach _that_ topic?

“I… I’m a bit tired today, so perhaps we could do that some other time?”, Eggsy murmured, syllables drawn long to buy time, and he had no idea how to continue, and why did he feel almost… guilty? He shouldn’t be. “I’d really rather stay here and…”

He cleared his throat as an idea rushed through his mind, an idea that was simple but perhaps just crazy enough to work. He turned his gaze to the floor, sighed loudly, deliberately, and it wasn’t difficult to appear sad when you hadn’t quite known happiness for a long time.

“To be honest, I’m feeling a bit down today. I was thinking about… _T-Tilde_…” He didn’t even need to fake the quiver of his voice. He hadn’t thought it would be that hard to say her name but he hadn’t really thought about her those last weeks, had he?

There was a pang, a wave of pain running through his body, almost like a kick in the stomach, but he tried to ignore it. He really was an awful boyfriend for forgetting her, for kissing, making out with another person mere days after her death.

“Why?”

He felt Harry tense up through their intertwined hands and a part of him knew that it wasn’t a good sign. Was his voice really that cold or did Eggsy just imagine it?

“I went through the photos on my phone and stumbled upon a picture of us,” Eggsy replied and how did he even manage to speak? Perhaps he could only keep talking because he didn’t let himself pause and think.

“It made me wonder what would have been different if she hadn’t been in that accident.”

“That’s hardly worth thinking about,” Harry said, maybe a bit too fast, his grip maybe a bit firmer. When he began to walk towards the kitchen, Eggsy followed him but he wouldn’t have been able to break away from Harry’s grip anyway. “You’re with me now.”

Eggsy frowned. A cold shiver ran down his back and he wasn’t sure why.

“We were together for more than half a year and we didn’t break up. She _died_, Harry. That’s nothing you can dismiss and joke about a week later.” He shook his head grimacing, tasting bile. His mind whirled like a merry-go-round. He needed to think of a plan, something that would show that Harry was innocent because he _needed_ to be innocent and that was why Eggsy kept talking without really knowing what he was even saying.

“You would have liked her. She was clever, put a lot of effort into dressing well, not unlike you by the way. She always had those crazy expensive, extravagant accessories for her hair. She never told me where she bought them.”

“Maybe,” Harry said letting go of him as they reached the kitchen. Eggsy had never heard a _maybe_ that sounded more like an _absolutely not_. Why did Harry seem that uneasy, that irritated? Why couldn’t he just pretend to like Tilde because then he wouldn’t have had a reason to kill her and Roxy would know that he was no murderer.

“I wouldn’t call blue ribbons extravagant, though. What would you like to eat for dinner, darling?”

It didn’t strike him as odd at first. Eggsy thought that, maybe, he should try to revisit the topic later, and Roxy had really given him an impossible task, hadn’t she? He opened his mouth.

And froze as if someone had shoved him down a cliff into a sea of icy water.

~


	11. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter but I'm going to upload the epilogue tomorrow (because I'll be travelling through Europe after that). This chapter contains perhaps even more triggers than the other ones, so proceed with caution. (Notes at the end for more Information)

**Chapter 10**

~

_“It really isn’t that much, the necklace is the real present. I just thought something more personal would be nice._

_Yeah, not my best idea…”_

_“Oh, that’s so sweet of you, Eggsy. Don’t you dare talk like that! You could make a bracelet out of straws and I’d love it! Or, well, maybe not that, but you know what I mean. _

_Hey, don’t laugh! It really isn’t that funny!”_

_It had taken him an embarrassingly long time to embroider their names onto that blue ribbon, but three discarded ribbons later the golden cursive letters glimmering on the fabric actually hadn’t looked half-bad. _

~

“W-what… did y-you say?”, Eggsy whispered, tongue almost too heavy to move. It was weird because he couldn’t really feel heavy while falling, could he? And he was falling, falling with no lifeline to reach, falling deeper into a darkness, into a black hole he wouldn’t be able to climb out of.

Harry turned to him and he frowned, probably because Eggsy was still standing on the threshold, perhaps because he couldn’t quite understand the question.

“I asked what you would like to eat. If it’s something we’d need to buy, there’s still time to go to the supermarket.”

(Eggsy remembered the day she had died, and it hadn’t been long after their six month anniversary. They had eaten lunch together and that had been the last time he had seen her alive. He remembered her laugh, her smile, her happiness.

He remembered the blue ribbon in her hair.)

“N-no…” Eggsy took a deep breath, pressed his eyes shut, tried to gather enough strength to speak. “Something about… a blue ribbon.”

Harry’s gaze was as unfaltering and firm as before and an outsider might not have noticed any difference. Eggsy, too, thought the words hadn’t really provoked anything in him before he noticed that Harry was staring at him and it wasn’t like before at all.

He seemed stiff, his jaw clenched, his muscles tense, the former easiness gone as if someone had tied iron chains around his wrist, around his whole body, and they didn’t let him move, didn’t let him breathe.

“It wasn’t important,” Harry said, but his voice was strained. It sounded as if he were talking from the bottom of a well, and it didn’t feel right. It felt horribly, horribly wrong.

“You’ve never met her, did you? You..” Eggsy wet his lips, breath shaky, heartbeat ringing through his ears like alarm bells. He had to clench his hands to keep them from trembling. It didn’t want to work. “You’ve never met Tilde.”

_Please say that you’ve never even seen her_, he thought, begged, prayed, because Harry had only arrived in London after her death. He simply couldn’t have seen her, he couldn’t have seen that blue ribbon, he couldn’t have seen it unless… he had met her before her death.

And that would mean that he had lied about the time of his arrival, and why would he lie about such a mundane thing if not to hide something? Why would he be that pale, that tense, that… _scared_?

“I said it isn’t important, Eggsy.” A dark spark flickered through Harry’s gaze, voice dangerously low, tone burning with a warning. Eggsy felt as the flames were swallowing him.

Nausea captured him with a grip of iron, made him choke, made him dizzy, made the borders of his vision waver until Harry was the only solid form in his field of vision, a rock between the roaring waves of a raging sea. Until he was the only thing connecting him to reality, the only thing visible to him, really.

Eggsy didn’t know how he was still breathing, how he was still living, because he couldn’t help but feel as if he should have died a long time ago.

“D-did you k-kill her, H-harry?,” he ground out, tears stinging in the corners of his eyes. He didn’t want to look at Harry but he needed to do it. He needed to _know_. It was like taking a knife and cutting out his own insides until he was drowning in blood and flesh and muscle. It made him want to throw up.

Harry didn’t say anything for a moment or two but there was a change in his posture. There was no fear, no uncertainty, no stiffness anymore. Eggsy _knew _that posture, the way Harry was leaning forward slightly, the way he was straightening his back, nostrils fluttering as he drew deep, calm breaths. He knew that coldness, that look of forbearance that was whispering _you don’t know what you’re talking about_ into his ear like poison. That look that was saying _I know what’s best for you_. Harry had never really known that, had he?

Eggsy had thought he had known pain but every moment of crying agony paled to slight discomfort in comparison to this. It was as if he had been living in a dream until now, soaring through the sky, running over clouds with fluttering wings of hope until someone tore them off leaving him crippled and falling and hurting. His mind couldn’t stop screaming and he didn’t know if it ever would.

“What are you talking about, Eggsy? What makes you think I would do such a thing?”

He would have sounded genuinely concerned, worried, shocked, if it weren’t for the fact that Eggsy knew him and he knew that Harry was hiding something. He had known for a long time.

“Did you kill her, Harry?!”, Eggsy yelled. The words burned his throat but he could hardly feel it. It didn’t matter. Nothing really mattered anymore.

Harry was walking closer with steps that were much too confident, much too firm. How could he be so calm when he was being accused of freaking murder?

“It was Roxy, wasn’t it? What kind of fantastic stories has she told you about me?”

“_Fuck_, answer that damn question! Don’t try to make this about me, it isn’t. It’s about you, and you alone. It’s one word, yes or no, fucking yes or no, Harry!” Eggsy could hardly see through the veil of tears that were streaming down his cheeks, chest heaving with trembling, hasty gasps. When had he even begun to cry?

“Yes,” Harry said as if it were the easiest thing in the world.

Eggsy blinked a few times, the silence booming in his ears. He gulped staring at Harry as if he were seeing him for the first time. He hadn’t really said that word, had he? He couldn’t have. He couldn’t. He couldn’t. He…

“W-what…?” It was barely more than a whisper.

“Yes,” Harry repeated and it rang like a gun shot through the kitchen. There was no mistaking this time, and yet a part of Eggsy wanted to ask the same question over and over again until he would get the answer he oh so wished for.

“I killed her. It was by no means an easy decision but I had to do it.”

Eggsy was staring, still, was dying with every painful breath a bit more. He shook his head but it was slow as if his muscles couldn’t keep up with him, as if his mind were slowing down the time because it just couldn’t accept those events as reality.

“Y-you… h-had… to… kill her. You really… think…” He was floating, swimming, falling, drowning. “You can’t be serious. I don’t believe you.”

Harry tilted his head, slight irritation twisting his face.

“You were the one asking me, Eggsy. You should stop asking questions that you don’t want to know the answer to.”

_Shut up, Harry. Don’t say anything, please. Please. Please. Please._

Eggsy pressed his eyes together but Harry was still there lingering in the corners of his mind. He couldn’t breathe, and he couldn’t stop hurting, and how could he hope to survive if the meaning of what he had just found out were only now beginning to down on him?

When it was pressing down on his shoulders like the weight of the sky?

“W-why?”, he whispered. But he already knew the answer to that question, didn’t he?

“I’ve told you before. I love you.”

Eggsy’s eyes snapped open. “Love doesn’t make people die!”

Harry looked at him with a gaze that made him shiver, that made his heart twist as if a claw were clenching it. He was too close, always too close, but Eggsy couldn’t bring himself to step away and it hurt so fucking much. Why was Harry always hurting him even though he was supposed to love him, to protect him, to be the hero of his darkest hour?

It wasn’t fair, was it?

“Oh, but your father did die for me,” Harry said.

Eggsy grimaced, would have flinched if he had enough strength to do so, and what the fuck was Harry talking about? Harry wasn’t implying that… that…

“You didn’t know, did you?”, Harry murmured lifting a brow. “Your father was in love with me, Eggsy. He died protecting me from a grenade…” A sigh. “I’ve never really liked his attention to be honest. It was annoying more often than not. I don’t regret letting him die… it was the natural thing to do.”

Eggsy didn’t know what to say and he didn’t really _want_ to say anything. How could he have been that blind for such a long time?

How could that man be the same Harry that had picked him up at the police station all those months ago?

“You’re different than your father, Eggsy,” Harry whispered and there was a soft, quivering edge in his voice. “You’re warm and bright and intelligent and caring and beautiful, and I can’t help but love you. I can’t live without you. And you’re here, aren’t you? You might not want to admit it, but I know you. You won’t leave me, Eggsy, you want me just as much as I want you. You-“

Harry reached out, fingers dangerously close to his skin, and it was as if time were slowing down. There was no thought in his mind and that was good because Eggsy might not have been able to move as fast as he did if there had been the tiniest distraction.

He stumbled backwards, drew the gun and aimed it straight at Harry’s face.

“Don’t _fucking_ touch me!”, he snarled, sobbed, cried. “Don’t you dare, Harry! I’ll kill you! You’ll be _dead_, just like my dad, just like Tilde. No coming back to life this time.”

Harry didn’t look at the barrel but there was fear in his gaze, real, shivering fear, and he should be scared, he should be trembling, he should be begging for his life, even though it wouldn’t be enough. It could never be enough.

“Why couldn’t you just stay dead?! I wish you would have died when Valentine shot you, I wish I had never met you, I wish you could suffer just as much as I do, I w-wish…”

_I wish I could kill you but I can’t._

Eggsy sniffled, sobbed, and it was hard to speak with all those tears burning his face. It was hard to speak with all those terrible memories laughing at him, mocking him. It was hard, so fucking hard.

“You don’t even know how much you hurt me, do you? You only care about yourself, about your feelings, and your damned love for me. _Love_, ha!” Such a beautiful word for such an ugly thing. “I’ve got news for you. You can’t force someone to love you, there’s no way you can. It just isn’t possible. And to think I…”

His whole body was shaking, the gun in his hands bobbing about like a ship in a storm, distorted by his tears. It was torture. This must be some special kind of hell because there was no way reality could be that horrible.

“To think I did love you! To think I looked up to you! I never wanted to be your lover, Harry, but it might have been different if you had given me time. If you hadn’t decided to be a selfish monster and _kill my girlfriend_, my god, Harry, I can live with much but _that_? How could you do that? You need help, but I can’t give you anything more. You already took so much from me…”

Eggsy should have shot him right then and there. His fingers did move to hover just above the trigger, close enough to feel the metal. It was hot against his skin, almost humming with anticipation.

“I should kill you, you know?”, he murmured. “You deserve to die. It would only be fair.”

“Kill me,” Harry said, and he really was a bastard, wasn’t he? “I don’t care if it’s you.”

_I hate you! I hate you so much._

“I can’t. You know I can’t.”

_Why can’t I hate you?_

Eggsy lowered the gun and turned around and he ran to the bathroom and locked it. When he pressed himself against the door, he knew why. How could he hate Harry when every drop of hate he was able to feel was directed at himself?

He couldn’t hear Harry coming after him, perhaps because his heart was pounding in his ears like rolling thunder, drowning out any other noise. Perhaps it was because he didn’t _want _to hear anything.

His fingers clenched around the gun and he didn’t know how hadn’t collapsed on the floor yet. Why couldn’t his heart just stop beating and release him from this utter torture?

His eyes were pressed shut but he could see memories dancing in his mind like the headlights of an approaching car, glaringly bright and horrifying.

He could see Tilde as she had been before her death, smiling at him, but she wouldn’t smile now, would she? She had only died because of him, because of this damned obsession Harry had with him. She could have led a nice, a happy life, if it hadn’t been for him. If she hadn’t met him. Fuck, he might as well could have killed her himself, it wouldn’t have made a difference.

_It’s my fault_, Eggsy thought and he wanted to throw up. _I killed her and I just couldn’t wait to go on and sleep with Harry and forget her like the miserable fucking bastard I am._

He wasn’t really better than Harry, was he?

He didn’t really deserve to live either.

And what was there for him to live for? He couldn’t live with Harry anymore. He wouldn’t be able to even look at him because he knew the truth now and it would break him over and over again, every second of his life. It wouldn’t be living, it would be surviving. Perhaps his body would be functioning, but his mind, his heart, his soul… they would have died a long time ago.

However, he couldn’t imagine another possibility. There was none. Harry would always go after him, wouldn’t he? He would never let him alone, let him start a new life, let him find unconditional happiness again. He would always be there.

How many people would die for him? Who would fall victim to this sorry parody of love next? His sister? His mother? Roxy?

They would all die until there would be no one left, until he would be alone with Harry, and he couldn’t let it come to this. He couldn’t let the chain of his guilt grow heavier, the chain that was already heavy on his chest, tied around his body, pressing down on him, suffocating him.

He couldn’t live with that.

He couldn’t live.

_He couldn’t live_.

His hand was shaking when he lifted the gun again but the trembling ceased when he took a deep breath, and the sobs, the whimpers, the burning tears faded, too, until they were mere traces on his cheeks, slightly tingling.

His lips quivered as he took another breath and it was loud in the silence of the room. The shot would be even louder, wouldn’t it?

His finger danced over the trigger as he wondered how he should aim to make it as quick and painless as possible. He had read something about this before, about people who had missed the important parts and had to live as cripples. He wouldn’t want that but even that might be better than the alternative.

_I’m sorry_, Eggsy thought. He didn’t even know why he was apologising, who he was apologising to. Pain rang through his chest, his heart aching, but it didn’t matter. It would be over soon.

It would be alright.

He sighed and-

“Eggsy?! Eggsy, please, open the door, say something!”

_Roxy?_

“I know you’re in there, there’s a tracker in the ring. Please, Eggsy, open the door, talk to me. Please…”

“R-roxy?”, he whispered.

Why were tears streaming down his face again? Why couldn’t he just pull the trigger and end it all?

“I’m here, Eggsy. It’s okay, I’m here. Harry isn’t going to hurt you again, I promise. We’ve subdued him. P-please, open the door, please, Eggsy, please…”

_Harry isn’t going to hurt you again._

It sounded too good to be true. It couldn’t be, could it? It had always got worse in the past, it hadn’t got better, now could be no exception, right?

He took a shuddering breath, eyelids fluttering. The barrel was cool against his temple, blissfully cool.

“I d-don’t know what _to do_, Roxy,” he sobbed. He didn’t want to be like that, that pathetic, that weak, but he couldn’t help it. “I c-can’t… I… I d-don’t know… i-if… if… I can live… if I _want _to live, Roxy, _oh Roxy_,… you don’t know how I feel, I didn’t know you could feel so much _pain, _and it hurts, it fucking _hurts…_… I hate it, I h-hate it…” A laugh, and why was he laughing?

“I hate myself so _fucking_ much, Roxy…”

“I know,” Roxy said, and why did she sound as if she were choking back tears? Why was she crying? She shouldn’t be, she hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Open the door and let us talk about it. I’m your friend, Eggsy, and I will always be your friend. I don’t hate you, I couldn’t hate you, and it hurts me so much to hear you talk like that. I love you, and I want you to live! Please, Eggsy, there’s so much worth living for! You don’t even have to decide now, j-just… just open the door, okay? P-please…”

Eggsy pressed his eyes close. Her voice was warm and nice, and it was somehow able to cut through the chains around his body until he didn’t feel like inhaling flames with every breath anymore. It was hard, so fucking hard, to lower the gun, and he almost didn’t believe he could to it. When he let go of it, it met the tiles with an ugly clang, and he flinched, and he took a deep breath.

And he opened the bathroom door.

~ 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought about many different scenarios of how to finish this story, including Roxy killing Harry, Eggsy killing Harry and Eggsy killing himself. Though, in the end I just couldn't let any of them die...


	12. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we go! :) A big thanks to everyone who has read this story, especially to the ones commenting/leaving kudos. You really brightened my days! (Perhaps I'll write some more to this AU in the future, but for now it's finished. The longest fanfic I've actually finished by the way...) (You might have noticed that I mentioned it's a 38k word fic. Well, not anymore, it's 40k because I added a scene in chapter 7. Something seemed to be missing as I reread it.)

**Epilogue**

~

_One year later_

The door opened by itself. Eggsy didn’t need to push the handle, there wasn’t even one. He would only need to cross the threshold to step into the small room with its white walls and the one-way mirror on the left. He took a deep breath and moved.

Roxy had tried to talk him out of this and it had worked, at first.

He had waited, had ignored that itch at the borders of his consciousness. It had been soft at first, like the buzzing in your ears after a lengthy night in a disco, meant to disappear soon enough. It hadn’t disappeared, though.

Sometimes he had woken up in the midst of the night, body restless and tingling as if yearning to do something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Sometimes his mind had wandered off to places it shouldn’t reach. Sometimes he had thought of _him_, and what _he_ was doing, and if _he_ was still thinking about him.

It had taken a long time to gather the courage to really do something, though, to make himself call Statesman and ask if it would be possible to arrange a meeting. It had taken even longer to actually go through with his request, even after it had been permitted, because a part of him didn’t_ want_ to see him. A part of him would gladly stay away from him for his whole remaining life.

And yet Eggsy was here, wasn’t he?

Harry didn’t look much different, perhaps more tired, as if he couldn’t quite sleep long enough to erase the shadows beneath his eyes, lines at their corners a bit more prominent, shoulders not slumped down but not really straightened either. All in all, it wouldn’t have caught Eggsy’s eye if he hadn’t been looking for it, for differences, for signs that showed that it really had been a whole year already. It was almost disappointing.

His hands were loosely clasped upon the table he was sitting at, a gesture that seemed too relaxed, that clashed with the fact that uncomfortable looking handcuffs were hiding his wrists. Eggsy felt his skin prickle as Harry looked up to stare at him with a gaze as empty as the deepest parts of the ocean.

“I don’t know why they think this is necessary,” Harry said nodding at the handcuffs, and his voice hadn’t changed either. “It’s not like I could escape with maybe three other agents standing ready just outside this lovely room, right?”

Eggsy didn’t answer as he walked closer with slow, heavy steps, as he let himself fall on the chair opposite Harry, and his heart was fluttering in his chest like an encaged bird. It was weird to be that close to him again and yet that far away at the same time.

“I might be a disgusting, dirty old man, a horrible monster that should suffocate in its own blood and never see the sun again, but, well, I’m not stupid.”

Eggsy lifted a brow. He could almost feel a smile tugging at his lips. “Who called you that?”

Harry smiled, gaze brightening and warm, and Eggsy’s heart skipped a beat. It shouldn’t have felt that good to see him. “You probably know her. That bright, young lady from Kingsman, has her hair tied back in a ponytail. You wouldn’t believe she’d go all the way to this facility just to insult me.”

“Well, it might console you that Roxy’s also insulting you when she’s with me. Makes me wonder if she ever does anything else, actually,” Eggsy said shrugging slightly, and he couldn’t help but grin and didn’t even know why. Or maybe he did.

He didn’t want to go back to _that_ time but that didn’t mean that he hadn’t liked some parts of it, and he had always liked to talk to Harry, most of the time at least. He liked it now maybe more than ever. There were no secrets anymore, no hidden darkness tainting Harry’s words. Eggsy finally felt as if they were talking on the same level, as if he weren’t just screaming into the void.

Harry sighed, and there was a shadow running over his face that made him look at least ten years older.

“It’s good to see you smile, Eggsy,” he murmured, voice warm, yet oddly sad, and Eggsy felt his heart twist. For a second he felt the urge to stand up, to go around the table and throw his arms around Harry, but he knew that he couldn’t do it.

“You were never truly happy with me, were you?”

“I wanted to be…,” Eggsy whispered, smile fading away like the sun’s light in the evening. He cleared his throat but it still felt as if something were clogging it. “You made it really difficult for me, Harry.”

Harry blinked at him, corners of his lips quivering slightly as if they couldn’t decide if they should sink or rise.

“Well, I can’t say I’m sorry for the time we spent but I do… regret… some of what I did. You must believe me when I say that it was never my intention to hurt you. But I see that I did. For that, I cannot apologise enough, Eggsy.”

He reached across the table to slowly, gently interlace his fingers with Eggsy’s own, and Eggsy couldn’t help but freeze, heart leaping, a shiver running down his neck.

There was a voice in his ear, the tiny device connecting him to the other room humming, _do you want us to intervene? _

However, he took a deep, shuddering breath, eyes flickering to their intertwined hands, and back to Harry. Harry who didn’t look dangerous but only sad as if yearning for something that was forever lost.

Eggsy shook his head just enough to make it noticeable and it felt like the right thing to do.

This time it was him who let his thumb run over the back of Harry’s hand and the touch was warm and nice. He heard Harry sigh again, a quiet, shaking sound, and it was Harry who couldn’t quite look at him.

The itch was gone, at least for now.

Eggsy wasn’t alright, but, for the first time in ages, he felt as if it might actually get better now. As if _he_ might actually get better.

He knew that a part of him belonged to Harry, still, that it would always belong to him.

But he was learning to live without it.

~


End file.
